


i'm waiting so hard (to be near you)

by nucodiangelo



Series: i've been away for a long time (but i finally made it back home) [2]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier-centric, Fix-It of Sorts, Hurt/Comfort, Long-Distance Friendship, Losers Club Reunion (IT), Love Confessions, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Multi, Post-First Battle with Pennywise (IT), The Losers Club Are Not Heterosexual (IT), follow up fic, idk just the losers meeting again and being soft, the losers return to derry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:54:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 25,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28368003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nucodiangelo/pseuds/nucodiangelo
Summary: "It's our responsibility to reunite the Losers Club. You and Mike won’t have to bear the torch alone anymore. Thank you for keeping it alive, but I’m here now, and I won’t let you do it alone.”Four reunions and lots of kisses.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris
Series: i've been away for a long time (but i finally made it back home) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2064060
Comments: 17
Kudos: 30





	1. one bus ride, one new friend and one reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You made me pinky promise to visit, or to invite you to visit, and I think I punched you in the shoulder instead and insisted that pinky promises were nothing compared to blood oaths, which we had already taken.” He reaches up to grace softly over the half-moon scar in Stan’s palm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the follow up fic to my dorothea fic titled "it's never too late (to come back to my side)", it's not necessary to read it before reading this, but I suggest doing so!
> 
> Title is from the Simon & Garfunkel song _Why Don't You Write me ___
> 
> _  
> _chapter relevant trigger warning: mentions of internalised homophobia, canon injuries and violence, implied hate crimes and implied mental health issues, and there's a brief mention of cocaine (nothing implicit)._  
> _

_"Your absence has gone through me / Like thread going through a needle. / Everything I do is stitched with its color."_

_\- W.S. Merwin, from "Separation" (1993)_

* * *

The weather cools down significantly the first week of December, until the habitants of LA are forced to finally pull out their winter jackets and scarves from their place in the back of the closet, the city wet and air biting. Richie bounces nervously on the heels of his feet, leather boots squeaking, until the keys on his belt loops jangle against the denim of his thighs. The bus stop is full of people with all sorts of suitcases, bags and backpacks, all heading out of Los Angeles for the holidays. It’s mostly students, some people Richie recognises from school, who are heading home early with the end of exam season. Frank and Simon are standing next to him, giving him looks ranging from fond amusement to annoyance at his restlessness.

“Stop being so twitchy, you’re making me nervous.” Simon snorts, running a gloved hand over his blonde curls, smirking at the look on Richie’s face. His cheeks are red with cold, and his eyes are slightly bloodshot.

“Yeah, well, I just thought I’d share some of my nerves. I can’t possibly keep them all in.” Richie bites back, glancing over at the bundle of busses still over by the terminal, trying to see if he can catch a glance at the bus that’s going to take him to Stanford.

He had tried calling Stanford’s student administration office to see if there was any he could get a hold of Stan before taking a seven-hour bus across the state, but to no luck. The lady who picked up the phone had calmly tried to explain to him that while yes, there was a Stanley Uris at Stanford, she wasn’t allowed to hand out any information unless Stan had given his consent, which he hadn’t. Richie suspects Stan has gone through the last two years thinking he had no one back home who would bother trying to reach out him, just like Richie had. The thought makes him sad. He thinks momentarily of the summer of ’89, when Stan had looked at him with hurt eyes and screamed at him for leaving. Stan’s biggest fear back then was being left alone, not being good enough, not being valued as one of the Losers, as Richie’s friend, and then he had forgotten them all, left all alone at a west coast school, just a few hours from Richie but still alone. He bites his tongue in his mouth to stop his darkening thoughts, and pulls his new flip phone from the pocket of his jeans to check the time. That was one of the first things he did when he got of the phone with Eddie, two weeks ago. First, he had called Mike, cried for a bit, and then marched straight to the nearest department store to buy a ridiculously expensive mobile phone. Partly because he didn’t want to have to stand out in the hallway whenever he wanted to talk to Eddie, and partly because it would be nice not to have to find a payphone to update everyone back home about his journey to find Stan. His parents had offered to pay for it, as a belated Hanukkah present, but he had insisted he had saved up enough money to get it for himself, but had then had asked them to pay for a second phone, that he was planning to give Eddie for Christmas so they didn’t have to have hushed conversations in the middle of the night to avoid Eddie’s mother snooping. Maybe parts of him was hoping they could revisit that whole phone sex idea. He smirks slightly at the thought.

“Will you explain to us again why you’re taking a long ass bus ride to see this guy instead of just calling him?” Frank asks, sitting down on the little bench behind them, looking rumpled and tired. They had all handed in their last exams of the semester just two hours previously, and Frank had been up all night studying. Richie’s incredibly thankful that they came with him to see him off. He had been so full of nerves all week he had barely slept and had spent his entire exam doodling in the margins, head buzzing with thoughts and anxiety at the thought of seeing Stan again. If he fails the exam it would be well worth having to retake the class anyways, because in just a few hours he will be seeing Stan again. And the sooner he found Stan, the sooner he will be seeing Eddie, too.

He tries to think of a way to put this that doesn’t sound absolutely insane, “I told you. I don’t think he remembers me, from home.”

“But,” Simon says, “I thought you said you’ve known this Stan guy since you were like three? You’ve only been at college for two years? Does he have the memory of a goldfish, or something?”

Richie snorts, knowing damn well that Stan has a near photographic memory, which had always irked the rest of the Losers in high school, who always had to study their asses off to keep their grades up, while he just read through the texts once and passed with flying colours, “Yeah, we grew up together. It’s… You know how I never mentioned Eddie to any of you until like two weeks ago even thought I’ve been in love with the guy practically my entire life?”

Simon nods, looking amused, “Yes. It was quite the shock when you burst through the door of our room with a bunch of letters and broke down on the floor. I thought you had finally lost it.”

Frank laughs, “And then you went all insane and insisted on hogging the phone for days, barking at anyone who wanted to make a call.” He says, then gives Richie a devious smile, “Then again, Eddie sounded very hot over the phone, so I guess I understand the commotion.”

And Richie, who spent his entire childhood horrified of who he was and who he loved, growing up in a small town known for its prejudice and hate crime statistics, feels so full of love for these two guys who’s only known him for only about two years, but still accepts and loves him for exactly who he is. Even though he’s spent his entire time in California feeling lost and empty, and hasn’t always been the best friend because of it, they like him and didn’t even blink when he told them about Eddie, and about Derry, and about being scared.

“Yeah, laugh it up.” Richie chuckles, “I guess the only way to put this is that me and my friends from back home went through something really traumatic together a few years ago… There’s this thing I read once that said that trauma causes memory loss, so I guess that’s what’s happened. I’m sure Stan remembers me in some way. Like an itch you can’t scratch. He just doesn’t know that he remembers me.”

Simon frowns but nods, “I guess. Sounds a bit insane, still.”

“Yeah, don’t call us when you get fucking arrested for stalking and harassment. This poor Stan guy won’t know what hit him when your lanky ass just shows up on his door and insists you’re his childhood best friend that he’s magically forgotten all about.”

“It _is_ insane.” Richie agrees, glancing down at his phone again to check the time, “But don’t worry. Knowing Stan, he _probably_ won’t punch me, and he’ll definitely cry a lot. He’s so cool, I can’t wait.”

Frank snorts, “Sure. Well, there’s your bus.”

Richie snaps his head in the direction of the terminals, seeing his bus round the corner to stop right in front of them, “Fuck. Ok… Fuck. I’ll call you guys as soon as I find him, just so you know I’m not in jail. I don’t expect you fuckers to pay my bail.” He laughs, feeling the familiar rasp of anxiety in his throat.

“Yeah. Don’t get punched in the face.” Simon smirks, giving him a firm but warm hug, “Have a nice trip. Good luck in fucking Maine.”

“Yeah. It’s a blast down there.” Richie huffs, and then pulls Frank in for a hug, “Happy holidays you Catholic bastards. Have fun creating drama during family dinner by being your sweet socialist selves.”

“Sure thing, comrade.” Frank pulls away and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jacket, smirking, “Bring home some Jewish baked goods, when you come back after break. I wanna try some.”

Richie grabs his bag from the ground by his feet and shuffles over to stuff it into the luggage room of the bus, “Of course. My mom always bakes enough to feed an entire army. Say happy holidays to Soph from me, would you?”

“Sure thing, Tozier, as long as you give Eddie a big fat kiss from me.” Frank smirks, and Richie flips him off as he steps onto the first step of the bus.

“You’re not his type.” He grins, heart beating harder at the thought that he, himself, is Eddie’s type. He turns around and heads on boards, smirking at Frank and Simon’s laughter from behind him. He finds a seat next to some tired looking girl his own age, who gives him a tight smile and shuffles her scarf into a bundle and places it against the window so she can lean her head there to sleep. He tries not to bounce his knee as to disturb her, buckling in for the journey. Fishing his phone up from his pocket again, he dials Eddie’s home number and listens to the four rings it takes before Eddie picks up.

“Hello?” Eddie’s voice, clear as day, calls out from the speaker pressed against Richie’s ear. His stomach does a stupid dive, feeling like it’s going to fall right out of his ass. He wiggles in his seat, all awkward elbows and long limbs, and sends an apologetic smile as the girl in the seat next to him glances over.

“Eds!” He whispers, and the bus hums as the driver turns the key in the ignition, and starts up, “The bus is pulling out of the stop now. I’ll be in Stanford at like eleven tonight, and then head straight for campus.”

Eddie huffs from the other side of the line, and it pulls at Richie’s heartstrings. He’s always felt like his body was tuned to Eddie’s. The way the sound of Eddie’s voice will start cause his heart to beat furiously against his ribs, the way Eddie laughs will twist itself into the bottom of Richie’s stomach, the slide of their skin against each other used to cause Richie’s skin to erupt in goosebumps. He used to spend years trying his best to hide the full-body reaction he always had to Eddie. He can’t wait to see him again and not have to hide ever again.

“Good. I still think you should have waited until tomorrow to leave. Are you going to go around campus knocking on every door until you find him, in the middle of the night?”

Richie shrugs even though Eddie can’t see him, “I couldn’t wait a second longer, you know how I am. But I can always book myself into a motel if it gets too late. I’m hoping it’s going to be like some sort of spider-sense. That my Stan-senses will start tingling the second I step onto campus.”

Eddie snorts in the way he always does when he doesn’t want to laugh at Richie’s stupid jokes, but it defeats it’s purpose when Richie knows his every move, knows what every sound and quirk of his eyebrows mean, “Sure. Just don’t look like a creep lurking around the dorm buildings.”

“Why does everyone think I’m some weirdo? Frank and Simon said the exact same thing.” Richie laughs, leaning back in his seat, a pleased smile on his face, “I promise not to be arrested or thrown out by campus security.” He keeps his voice down in case the girl next to him is somehow listening to his conversation. It would be a bit hard to explain, if she did.

“Have you seen yourself?” Eddie asks, teasingly, and Richie heart flips in his chest at the familiarity of that tone, “You look Gonzo the muppet if he was a shitty stand-up comedian with a coke problem.”

“Ouch!” Richie grins, “Do I look like I have a coke problem? I’ll have you known I’ve only done coke a handful of times.”

Eddie huffs out an annoyed laugh, “No. I said you look like Gonzo _if_ he had a coke problem. Keep up.”

“Sorry, Eds.” Richie says, trying to keep the intense fondness out of his voice, “I’ll try not to look like that.”

Eddie giggles, and it makes Richie entire face heat up with want, in the way it always did back in high school when Richie would make a stupid joke during lunch and Eddie would laugh so hard he squirted milk right out of his nose, and Richie spent the rest of the day feeling like he was walking on sunshine. Now that he remembers every tiny little detail of his life before LA, he cannot believe he spent two years thinking he was unable to love properly. He remembers picking up Eddie on his bike after he broke his hand at Neibolt, his skinny arms around Richie’s waist and his warm huffs of breath against the back of his neck as they drove through town, cast pressed firmly into Richie’s stomach. Remembers holding Bill in his arms the night Georgie went missing, stroking awkward fingers through his hair, trying his best to be what Bill needed in that horrible, grief-filled moment. Remembers taking the two-hour bus to Portland to spend weekends at Bev’s aunt’s place, sleeping in the same bed and getting drunk on cheap beer, holding her through nightmares that had her shaking and screaming. Remembers spending long summer afternoons helping Stan paint houses so that they could save up enough money to leave finally leave Derry. Remembers Ben’s appreciative smile every time Richie stood up to bullies for making fun of him, saying, _no worries, Benjamin, you would do the same for me_ , and knowing it was true. Remembers punching Vic Criss in the face for calling Mike racial slurs back in senior year, resulting in a weeklong detention; it was worth every single hour spent in that humid detention room to see the vicious bruise on Vic’s cheekbone the next day. Richie is made up completely of love and loyalty, and some stupid fucking clown is never going to change that.

“I have to get back to studying.” Eddie huffs, sounding like that’s the last thing he wants to do, “Mike’s getting ready to get in the car and drive up to New York to pick up Bill, and I’m gonna try getting a hold of Ben again this afternoon. I’ve still not been able to reach Beverly…”

“Hey, we’ll get a hold of her soon! Didn’t you say that her aunt promised to leave her a message from us? We’ll just have to wait. Knowing Bev, she’s probably fully booked and busy up until the last second before the break, probably has two part time jobs and a huge group of friends who wants to do fun things with her, so we’ll just have to hope she gets our message in time to come see us while we’re all back.”

Eddie sighs, “Yeah, I’m just… It’s been exhausting balancing exam studying with trying to get a hold of everyone and catching Bill and you up with everything.”

“I know. You and Mike have done such a good job getting to Bill and talking him through whatever breakdown he must have had when he remembered his brother didn’t just go missing but…” He trails off, glancing around at the stuffed bus, remembering mentioning the whole child-eating alien clown thing might not be the best idea right now, “You know.”

“Yeah. Mike took the worst blow of his sadness, being the one who initially called him, but it was rough. I talked to him again last night, and he sounded… A bit clearer. So that’s a start. It’s going to be hard for him to come back here when he remembers all the gory details.”

“We’ll be there for him, like we always were.” Richie says, trying his best to sound comforting, wanting nothing more than to reach through the phone and place a large hand on Eddie’s tense shoulders, massaging out the worry and anxiety from his tight muscles, the way he was always so good at when they were children, “I know I was a bit of a dick about the whole thing when Georgie first went missing, and then again that summer Betty went missing, but Bill always knew it was because I was shitting myself with fear at the thought of being next, not because I didn’t care about him.”

“No one blames you for that.” Eddie says, and Richie loves him. He loves the fact that Eddie’s always been able to pick up on the things Richie’s nervous about, always able to distinct between his self-deprecating jokes and the stuff he’s actually insecure about, “We all knew what your jokes actually meant. Especially after Neibolt.”

Richie frowns and tries to shake the image of the missing poster from his mind, “Thanks, Eddie.”

Eddie hums, deep and ringing in Richie’s ear, “Get some sleep, Rich. It’s going to be a long night for you if you find Stan. Probably a lot of catching up to do.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Richie sighs, leaning further down in his seat to get comfortable, “I’m going to give Mike a call though, since we’re going through the same thing right now. The whole _tackling an old friend at his school and reminding him of his childhood trauma_ thing.”

Eddie snorts, but it sounds undeniably affectionate, and Richie grins at the seat in front of him, “He shouldn’t have left quite yet, so try the farm, not his house. He was there all morning.”

They say their goodbyes, Richie whispering a tender _I love you_ into the receiver, trying to shield their conversation and their love from the rest of the people on the bus. Then he dials the number to Mike’s grandfather’s farm.

“Mike speaking.” Comes Mike’s smooth voice from the speaker, and Richie is just as shocked at he’s been the other times he’s talked to Mike on the phone to find just how much his voice has changed in just two years. His own voice is just as squeaky and nasally at it always was.

“Micycle! I heard you’re taking a lovely road trip up to the big apple today.” Richie grins, crossing his feet in front of him, thankful for the extra space the seats by the emergency exit has given him.

“Richie! Hi. Yeah, I was just about to leave actually. Are you on the bus?”

“Yup. I’m cramped into this seat, ten minutes of the journey completed, only like seven hours to go. I can’t wait to smell like anxiety sweat and unwashed bus seats when I finally hug Stan again.” He laughs, glancing over at the girl next to him, but she seems sound asleep. Probably had just as rough of a night as Richie had with exam preparations.

“So nothing but the usual, then?” Mike chuckles nervously, in that familiar way he always did when he was unsure if he was also allowed to make fun of the other Losers, if he was a part of the bickering dynamic. Richie grins, feeling fond.

“Touché!” He laughs, in hopes that it will smooth out the crease to Mike’s brow that he knows is there, “I suspect you’ll be staying over at Bill’s until tomorrow then, since you arrive so late?”

Mike coughs, “Yes. He lives in some apartment with like five other boys that he doesn’t really like, but I’ve been offered the couch in the lounge. We’ll be leaving first thing in the morning.”

“Sounds great. Nothing’s like an awful night’s rest on a bumpy couch before an eight-hour road trip with an estranged friend.”

“It won’t make much of a difference. I haven’t had a single good night’s rest since you guys all left Derry, and anyways Bill and I aren’t estranged. We talked for a while after he left, and we hung out over Christmas, that first year. I’ve seen him more than I’ve seen you, Bev and Ben put together.”

Richie huffs playfully, but the words still gnaw at his heart, “It’s not a competition. And if it was, we all know the two of three B’s and I would win with outstanding marks.”

Mike hums in agreement, “What’s your plan though? When do you think you’ll be heading for Derry?”

“If I find him tonight, and if Stan’s finished with all his exams for the semester, we can hopefully find tickets for a plane tomorrow evening. If not, I’ll probably stick around until he’s ready to leave.” Richie says, rubbing a hand over his face. He realises it’s a half-assed plan. He realises it might take him days to even find Stan. Stanford has over sixteen thousand students, and Stan might not even live on campus. Maybe him and his girlfriend have an apartment together, off-campus, and Richie will have to search the whole bloody city. He’ll do it too, if it comes to it. He would search the whole state of California.

“Be prepared for a long night though.” Mike says softly, “I know you and Eddie’s situation was a bit different, because you had the letters to bring back most of your memories, but it’s a rough time trying to catch someone up on everything that happened between the summer of ’89 and until present time. Stan might not even want to listen to you, but you’ll have to try.”

“Yeah. I’ll have to try.” Richie sighs, “I don’t know what I’ll do if he doesn’t want to listen. If he doesn’t want me back in his life. I’ve known him since I was three and he was two. Our mothers used to sit next to each other at Temple, so my mom brought me over for a playdate, and we just never stopped hanging out. When we got to grade school and I had to start without him, I thought I was going to die. I can’t live my life without him, Mike.”

Mike sighs, entirely affectionately, “I don’t think you have to worry, Richie. Stan loves you more than he loves anyone else in this world. I’ve never been surer of anything. He might freak out, and shut you out, and refuse to come back to Derry, but he’ll get over it.” Richie frowns, his heart beating hard in his chest, and he feels overwhelmingly grateful for Mike’s smooth and comforting voice, his way of knowing exactly what to say in any situation. Mike has always been the best of the Losers, the kindest and bravest. Richie cannot wait to see him again.

“Sure thing, Mikey. I’m gonna catch some sleep. Have a safe trip up north and give Bill the biggest hug from me. Ruffle his hair a little, in that way he hates.”

Mike chuckles deeply, “Thank you, Rich. You too. Say hi to Stan from me when you find him, and remember to call Eddie with updates, or I think he might loose his mind.”

“Can’t have that.” Richie agrees, teasingly, “He’s so well balanced as it is, can’t have anything messing that up.”

Mike snorts, “Goodbye.”

While Richie had been joking about having Stan-senses, it really shouldn’t shock him that the second he steps foot on the campus of Stanford University, he gets the sudden urge to head right for the nearest coffee shop. He almost gets run over by some dickhead on a bike, who yells out a non-committal _sorry_ over his shoulder, but he makes it across the street and through the door, the bell chiming loudly over his head. It’s a cute little corner café, where it seems the entire Law department of Stanford has gathered for a loud last read-through of some practice case. They’ve pushed almost all the tables in the place together and are shouting at each other across them, a blackboard filled with notes in the corner of the room that some poor guy is trying his hardest to catch up with as people yell things at him. Richie grins at them for a second, and then locks eyes with the only barista in the place, some poor girl on the graveyard shift. He sends her a friendly smile, and then looks down at her nametag, and out-right grins. He practically runs over the cash register, planting his palms firmly on the countertop and letting his bag drop to the floor.

She jumps a little, but still gives him a well-practiced service-worked smile, “Hi, welcome to Coupa Café. What can I get for you tonight?” Her voice is smooth and slightly raspy, and Richie can’t stop grinning. What’s the chance of this? He must have collected quite the amount of good karma, to have such luck. Maybe the universe figured he had been through enough, clown-trauma and internalised homophobia considered, and wants to give him a bit of a break to make up for it.

“Sorry this is very forward, but you wouldn’t happen to be Patty Blum?” He asks, pointing at the silver nametag pinned to the chest pocket of her black button-up that clearly reads _Patricia_ , and enjoys the way her eyes narrow at him.

“Yes, that’s me. Do I know you?”

Richie lets out a breathless giggle, overjoyed at this turn of events, “No. But I know you. Or about you. I’ve heard _of_ you.”

“Uh. Okay.” Patty says, eyebrow raised and one hand on her hip, and Richie’s obsessed with her already, “Might I ask from who?”

Richie, who’s well aware that he might be freaking her out, tries to fight the wide grin on his face, “Stan! Stanley Uris. We’re childhood best friends, and he talked about you when he went home for Thanksgiving two years ago. Not that I was there, when he went home. But two of our other friends were there, and they told me about you in a letter. So, I feel like we’re practically friends already.” He rambles, feeling slightly unhinged. Undiagnosed ADHD, Eddie says. Richie just thinks he has too many thoughts and feelings at all times, and has a bit of a habit of letting them all out at once.

Her hard expression softens significantly at the name, “You know Stan?”

He grins at the way she says Stan’s name, like an incantation, like something special and valuable, “Known him since he was in diapers, the old bugger. I haven’t seen him in a while and was hoping you could point me in the right direction of where he is _right now_.”

Patty’s still looking at him with large, thoughtful eyes, “He talked about me when he went home that Thanksgiving, first year?” She asks, sounding dumbfounded. 

Richie frowns, “Yes. He said something about you being tall and Jewish, and tropical birds at the zoo. I wasn’t there so I’m not much of a reliable source, and Eddie never really pays attention when people start talking about girls, so he was useless when I wanted to know more, but he seemed to think Stan was pretty far gone. Head-over-heels.”

Patty blushes furiously, looking like a tall, very pretty, chilli pepper, “Oh.” She sighs, sounding fond and helpless, “Right. Uh. I think he’s gone to bed, actually. He had an exam today and was knackered. I was planning on going over there after my shift, so I can tell him you stopped by?”

Richie coughs, “That’s very nice of you, thanks. But I kinda need to see him right now. As soon as possible. I’ll take the blame for waking him up from his beauty sleep. He’s never been very good at being angry at me.”

Patty raises a dark brow at him, “Then it seems we have that in common.” She notes, sounding interested, “Can I ask what’s so urgent that it can’t wait until tomorrow? Is his family ok?”

Richie stares at her, trying his best not to look at desperate as he feels, “Yeah, old Rabbi Uris and Mrs. Uris are both fine, last time I heard. I think they played bridge with my parents last night, actually. It’s nothing… Well, it’s pretty important. I just need to see him.”

“What did you say your name was again? I think Stan’s mentioned Eddie once or twice when we first met.”

Richie smiles, feeling warm all over, “I didn’t, sorry. I’m not very well mannered. Stan used to be really embarrassed about me when we were kids. He taught me how do give a proper handshake when we were fourteen and applying for summer-jobs. I’m Richie.”

Patty stares at him with a weird expression on her face, somewhere between fondness and confusion, “I think that rings a bell. Stan hasn’t really talked much about you guys, his childhood friends, or anything about his childhood, for that matter, since we first met. I was beginning to suspect he had made you all up, just to impress me.”

Richie snorts, “Yes, very impressive. A bunch of outcasts who got aggressively bullied for a decade for being black, fat, gay, or having a stutter. A real impressive gang.”

Patty stares at him, eyes wide and a pleasant flush on her face, and Richie, who’s never really gotten all the fuss about girls, thinks that it makes complete sense that Stan’s head-over-heels with this one, “He always talked about you in the nicest way. He talked about you all like you were superheroes. Like he couldn’t believe you all wanted to be his friends.”

“Oh.” Richie mumbles, feeling the hot familiarity of tears in his eyes at the thought of Stan telling stories about the Losers to Patty in the early stages of their relationship, like he was bragging to her about having good friends, “Right,” He coughs, trying to collect himself, “I really need to see him. It’s urgent. I just got off a seven-hour bus ride from Los Angeles. I’m here to see him.”

Patty frowns, crossing her arms over his chest, “As I said, I can have him meet you first thing in the morning.”

Richie groans out loud, placing his elbows on the counter and letting his head fall into his open palms, rubbing at his eyelids, “Patty, I understand this is very out of the blue. Me showing up here demanding to see him. But…” He pauses to look up at her through his fingers, and thinks about Eddie’s letter, _wonder if he’ll ever tell her the truth about them. Would you?_ “Stan might be mad at me for telling you this, but he’ll get over it. I’m here because we all went through some horrible shit back home, and when we all moved away, we started forgetting. I forgot. I forgot Derry, my best friends, the love of my life, the traumatic shit we went through. I’ve spent two years feeling like I’m missing something. I’ve spent two years glancing to my right every time I was excited about something, as if I was used to someone being there to share in my joy, only to find the space vacant. I only just remembered everything two weeks ago, and I came here as soon as I could because I need Stan to remember too. I need it so desperately, because he’s my best friend in the entire world and I can’t believe I even survived the last two years without him. I barely did, actually.”

He snaps his mouth shut and straightens up to look at the bewildered look on Patty’s face. There’s something else in her eyes too, comprehension, understanding. As if the last puzzle pieces of a particularly hard set are finally coming together.

“Oh.” She whispers, eyes glancing around the shop as if looking to see if anyone are paying them any attention, “Shit, Richie. I think… Yeah. I believe you.”

“Really?” He asks, sounding incredulous, “I mean, great! What makes you believe me just like that? I sound pretty insane.”

She lets out a surprised laugh, “You do, a little bit, yeah. I don’t know. I’ve just noticed something about Stan. I always found it so strange how he didn’t seem to remember anything about his life before college, like it was all some smudgy blur in the back of his head. He… He does the same thing sometimes. Glances to his left with an expectant grin on his face, and then looks confused and hurt when he sees no ones there.” She says, looking sad but also like she’s cracked some impossible code, solved an unsolvable Rubik’s cube, “He also has these really bad nightmares. I can’t even count all the times I’ve had to hold him as he’s sobbed incoherently about sewers and clowns. He calls out names in his sleep too, sometimes. Names of people I can’t recall him ever telling me about.”

“Yeah. We’ve all been having nightmares for years. I didn’t realise why until recently.” Richie says, sad all of a sudden, hating that Stan’s been alone in this, knowing how it feels but also knowing that this all plays into Stan’s biggest fears. Pennywise tortured him for a whole summer about it, about being neglectable, about being the odd-one out. Richie wants to punch a wall, thinking about it. He knows it isn’t fair to blame himself, and that in all the ways that matters Stan’s had Patty to lean on since Derry.

“Shit.” Patty repeats, “Ok. Uhm. I have work till 2AM. If you want to wait here until then, I’ll take you to his dorm? I know you could find your way yourself, but this sounds pretty big and I want to be there for him.”

Richie grins, relief flooding through his entire system at the knowledge that Patty is exactly the type of person Stan deserves to spend his life with. Someone who loves him unconditionally. “Sounds good, Pats. Give me a large double shot latte, would you? It’s probably going to be a long night.”

Patty grins, and gets to work, and Richie watches her, sitting at the bar right by the counter, feeling some of the unease he’s been feeling for the past two weeks seep out of his bones. At least he won’t have to face whatever reaction Stan’s going to have alone. Richie drinks two coffees, almost shits himself with all the caffeine and nerves in his system, and then watches Patty close up. When she’s finally finished, she pulls an oversized Stanford sweatshirt over her uniform, stepping out from behind the bar and grins at him. She’s wearing those funky flared corduroys everyone’s so obsessed with lately in a deep burnt orange colour, and it matches the green lettering on the sweater. Her dark curly hair is loose around her shoulders now, free of the ponytail she had it in while working. She looks tired and nervous but gives him a reassuring smile as they walk out of the café and she locks up.

“It’s not too far away,” She says, turning to walk down the small street, “I usually call him from the front desk. He’s a light sleeper. He’ll buzz us up.”

Richie chews nervously at his lip, his bag feeling heavier than ever over his shoulder, “Patty, when we get there… It’s… It’s going to get heavy, quickly. I don’t think you’re prepared for the reality of the things we went through, and I don’t know if Stan’s going to want you to know. Don’t take it personal.”

Patty huffs, “Stan tells me everything. We don’t have secrets.”

Richie glances at her, at the determination on her face, but also at the uncertainty of her furrowed brows, as if she’s scared that whatever she learns tonight is going to change everything, “I know that. He’s never been very good with secrets. However, this shit is rough. It’s not something normal people go through, believe me. When we called our friend Bill last week to remind him off us, and our past, he freaked out. We had to call his roommates to keep an eye on him, because we were genuinely worried. Shit, when I remembered, I threw up all over my floor, and had to spend a miserable hour cleaning it up while sobbing.”

“I want to be there for him, if he’ll let me. I don’t care what it is.” She says, firmly, and then looks a bit worried regardless, “Did you guys do something?”

“We didn’t murder anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Richie laughs tensely, feeling stupid with nerves, “It’s more… Something did something to us. I’ll explain it all if that’s what Stan wants. And I’m not saying that he won’t want to tell you, I’m just telling you to be prepared for anything.”

She laughs nervously, “Okay. I won’t be offended if he asks me to leave.”

They stop outside a large brick building, and Patty holds open the door for him into the dimly lit hallway inside. The bored student behind the front desk looks up at them from a comic book, looking annoyed.

“Hi, Chris.” Patty greets him kindly, despite the fact that he’s looking at them like they’re the most annoying people on earth, “Could you call 5c for us?”

“What’s the occasion?” He asks, sounding bored, and presses a button on the desk in front of him.

“Uh.” Patty stutters, “I’m Stan’s girlfriend. You saw me leave this morning? This is Richie, he’s a friend.”

“Just visiting.” Richie says, holding up an awkward hand in greeting, feeling very out of place.

The guy, Chris, nods, “Well, it’s open, you can go in.” He waves a bored hand in the direction of the elevator, just as the doors slide open.

“Thank you. Goodnight!” Patty mumbles, grabbing Richie’s hand and pulling him into the elevator car, huffing as the doors close, “I hate that guy. He acts like he’s never seen me before every single time, despite the fact that I’m here more often than not.”

Richie nods, feeling like he might pass out from the anticipation. He was just this nervous when he was waiting for Eddie’s phone call, two weeks ago, but at least then he had known that Eddie remembered him, that Eddie loved him. He has no idea what to expect now. He makes a mental note to apologize once more to Eddie tomorrow morning when he calls him, even if he gets annoyed at Richie’s constant apologising, because this must have been exactly what Eddie was feeling for all those months, waiting for Richie to read his letters and respond.

They get off at the fifth floor, and Patty leads him down a quiet hallway, and knocks on the dark blue door with a silver C on it. A little plaque under the letter reads out _Stanley Uris_ , and Richie feels the sudden urge to start sobbing like a little kid. The door opens within seconds, revealing a bleary-eyed Stan, curly hair a mess, pillow marks on his cheeks, looking like he literally just rolled out of bed. He’s wearing the same Stanford sweatshirt as Patty, and nothing over his boxers, and Richie grins at him from behind Patty’s back. He looks exactly like Richie remembers, lanky in a strong way, with corkscrew curls and deep-set eyes.

“Hi, honey, how was work?” He asks sleepily, and then seems to notice Richie behind Patty, and gets a mystified look on his face, eyes searching and mouth slightly agape, “Who’s this-” And then it washes over his features. Pure comprehensive recognition. “Richie?” He gasps, eyes wide and mouth in a perfect o shape. He looks like he can’t believe his own eyes, and Richie grins sheepishly at him.

“Stan the man!” Richie greets, voice croaky and nervous, feeling stupidly affectionate as he stares at this sleep-rumpled version of Stan. He’s seen him like this before, at sleepover when they were kids. Once, the Losers all slept over at the Clubhouse, rolling out sleeping bags on the dirty floor and staying up all night laughing. Richie had been the first one to wake up in the morning and had spent a good thirty minutes gazing lovingly at Eddie’s sleeping face in the early morning light, until Stan woke up to stares at him with one of his looks. Like he could see right through him, like he knew every thought that was going through Richie’s head. He had always been able to read Richie like that, ever since they were kids. When Richie first introduced him to Eddie, he had taken one long look at him and then regarded Richie with the most exasperated, knowing eyes, and Richie had felt overwhelmed with the sense of being perceived.

Patty opens her mouth to say something, but is cut off by Stan pushing past her and throwing himself at Richie, who barely has time to catch himself against the force of it, bumping back into the wall behind him. Stan’s arms are firm around his upper arms, and Richie closes his eyes and pulls him closer, laughing slightly. It’s overwhelming, the joy he feels. No one has hugged him like this in years.

“Richie!” Stan practically squeaks into his ear, “What the fuck?” He pulls away to look at him, hands still firmly grabbing Richie’s shoulders, as if he’s scared to let go. His eyes have a familiar glint in them, like he used to get after long holidays spent apart, when they finally saw each other again.

“Nice to see you, Staniel. I was sort of afraid that you would punch me in the face.” Richie admits, feeling giddy and slightly hysteric. Patty’s standing behind them, arms crossed, an incredibly fond look on her face.

“Why would I ever-” And then it hits him. It’s clear as day. The dread that seems to seep into his every pore, blowing his pupils wide until his eyes are mostly black, the way his hands lose their grip slightly on Richie, “Oh.” He gasps. And Richie can’t help but recall that he looked exactly like this after their second time in Neibolt, pure horrified shock, like he can’t comprehend anything going on around him, like the reality of the world is simply too much for him. He rips himself away from Richie, and turns to look at Patty, and something in his expression seems to scare her, because she reaches out for him immediately, and he sinks into her touch like a child desperate for comfort. Richie feels useless where he stands pressed against the wall with his hands clutched at his side.

“Yeah.” He mumbles, not quite knowing what else to say.

Patty looks at him with an unreadable look, and Richie understands what she might think, and he can’t fucking stand it. “Why don’t we all go inside and I’ll put the kettle on, so we can talk?” She suggests, arms firmly clutched in Stan’s as he stares at the wall behind Richie’s head. Richie nods sadly, following them inside. She guides Stan over to the bed, sitting him down on the edge and placing a firm kiss on his forehead before heading over to the tiny kitchenette to put the water to boil. Richie stands by the door, feeling very out of place, and wishes, not for the first time, that Eddie was here with him. That he could reach over and hold his hand.

Stan shakes his head and looks over at him again, “Jesus. Richie… It’s. It’s so good to see you. I… I don’t. How…”

Richie springs into action, knowing every pattern of Stan’s moods, striding over to get down on the floor in front of him, legs crossed and arms reaching up to grab Stan’s in his own, “Hey, Stan. It’s ok. I know it’s all very overwhelming. I puked. Do you want to puke?”

Stan stares at him dumbfounded, “You puked? When?”

“When I remembered it all.”

“It… Yeah, It.” Stan mumbles, sounding terrified, “How the fuck did I forget It?”

Patty walks over with three mugs clutched in her hands and sit down next to Stan on the bed, handing one of the mugs over for Richie to grab and then gives one to Stan, who clutches onto it for dear life. “What’s with the capitalization?”

Richie glances at her, then looks back into Stan’s eyes, hoping his expression conveys the exact question he wants to ask, “Stan… Do you want to talk _alone_?”

Stan shakes his head sharply side to side, “I… Patty can stay if she wants. I don’t keep secrets from her. Now talk before I lose my mind. Please explain to me what the fuck is happening right now. Please explain why I didn’t remember ever knowing you until just a few minutes ago.”

Richie sighs, knowing exactly how Stan must be feeling right now, and sends Patty one last supportive smile, “Two years ago we left Derry. You left mid-July, because your parents wanted to make a trip out of it. I helped you pack up all your comics and weird bird-books, and we both cried like little girls when we said goodbye in your driveway, even though we would be living in the same state for the next four years. You made me pinky promise to visit, or to invite you to visit, and I think I punched you in the shoulder instead and insisted that pinky promises were nothing compared to blood oaths, which we had already taken.” He reaches up to grace softly over the half-moon scar in Stan’s palm, “Bill left right after you to go to New York, and then I left early August, and Ben left two weeks later. Bev went to Europe with her aunt that summer, but she hadn’t lived in Derry for years. Not since… The summer of ’89.”

Stan takes a sharp intake of air, staring with wide eyes at his own palm, at the stark white scar there, the ever-lasting reminder of what they went through together, “Fucking hell.” He whispers, “Is that why you’re here? The blood oath?”

“No, Jesus Christ, Stan… I’m here because I just remembered you existed, and I couldn’t wait a second longer than necessary to come down here to find you. I don’t need a blood oath to want see my best friend again.” Richie says quickly, heart picking up significantly, “Jesus, no… It’s not back.”

“Oh.” Stan sighs, “Thank God. I think I might have actually punched you in the face if that was why you showed up my door at 3am.” He chuckles, with no humour to it, “Ok so… Why do I feel like someone just pulled the carpet out from under my feet and slapped me in the face? Why have I forgotten Bill, Ben, Mike, Eddie, Bev and you?”

Richie smiles slyly, to cover up how fucking uncomfortable he is, “Well, we all left, and Eddie and Mike stayed behind in Derry to attend community college. And we forgot. Those of us that left, we completely forgot about everything. About each other, and about Eddie and Mike, about Georgie, Betty Ripsom, and Edward Corcoran, and the entire summer of ’89. About fucking Bowers and his goons, about the sewers and Neibolt. We forgot the oath, and our love for each other, and what Derry did to us. We forgot the goddamn clown, Stan.”

Stan frowns, looking dishevelled and scared, “Jesus fucking Christ.” He gasps, and finally looks up at Richie again, his arms coming up to touch the scars around his face.

Patty stares at them like they’re speaking a language she’s never heard before, “What?” She asks, reaching over to stroke affectionately over Stan’s cheekbone, centimetres away from the closest scar, “Does this have anything to do with how you got these?”

Stan nods helplessly, “I… Oh my God, this… Fuck. I almost died.” He stutters, and looks at Richie with a desperate look on his face, “Will you tell us about it? I remember parts… But. It’s blurry. I want Patty to know. All of it”

Richie smiles, “You sure? This is the sort of trauma you save for after marriage. Like _haha, now that you can’t get rid of me, listen to this doozy of a childhood_!”

Stan snorts, eyes wet and mouth in a hard line, “Fucking hell, Richie. Yes, I’m sure.”

Richie settles in, takes a big gulp of scorching hot tea, burning the tip of his tongue and the back of his throat, and starts, “Well, it all started when Bill’s brother, Georgie, went missing during that horrible thunderstorm that hit Derry in October of ’88.”

“Shit.” Patty mutters, hand clutched in Stan’s, “How old was he?”

“Six.” Stan answers before Richie can even begin to open his mouth, “Georgie was six when he went missing. We were twelve. Our families helped the police search the woods, the Kenduskeag, every single house and building in town. He was just gone.”

“Yeah.” Richie says, staring down at the carpet under him, “And then right before summer vacation of ’89, Betty Ripsom went missing the same way, and Bill was sure it was connected, somehow. We had already listened to his theories for months, so none of us were too shocked.”

“You made that horrible joke about how her rotting body was going to be found in some ditch, on our last day of school.” Stan says, sounding slightly accusatory.

Richie flinches and puts up his hands in mock-defence, “Hey, I might have been an ass, but I didn’t actually think Betty was dead. I was just trying to get a rise out of you and Eddie.”

Stan gives him a soft, fond, smile, “Yeah, you always were.”

“And I feel like karma bit me in the ass for that joke, seeing as Bill and I were the ones to find her severed upper-body behind the door on the second floor in the house at Neibolt street.” Richie mumbles, the same old nauseating guilt hitting him like a freight train. “Fuck.” Stan winces, “Yeah, I suppose so.”

Patty rubs both hands over her face, “Excuse me? What the fuck? You saw your classmates severed body?” She sounds hysteric, and horrified, and Richie feels for her. He can’t imagine what this all must sound like to an outsider. To a person with a normal childhood, from a normal hometown, with a normal group of childhood friends. Even people with childhood trauma probably wouldn’t be able to stomach all the shit they went through, before they were even old enough to understand the severity of it.

“I was trying to warn you,” Richie says sheepishly, shrugging, “You probably wish you weren’t here for this, now.”

She gives him a hard look and squares her shoulders, as if bracing herself for anything he might throw at her, “No. I’m alright. Continue.”

Richie grins, “Alrighty then. The storyline is a bit blurred for me too, but the summary of the summer was that Betty went missing, and then Hockstetter and Corcoran. All us Losers kept running into Pennywise, and Bill and Ben had those crazy sewer theories, about the well in Neibolt and the Barrens. We fought the clown, and killed It, down in the cistern after Bev was taken and got caught in the deadlights. We took the blood-oath, that day by the kissing bridge, and life went on.”

Richie talks for what feels like hours, going through the timeline of the worst summer of their entire lives. Stan chimes in now and then, with details he remembers or questions he has, and Richie tries his best to be patient and understanding, two things that don’t exactly come easy to him. They take a break half-way through to make another cup of tea, and Richie smokes a cigarette out the window, sitting on Stan’s bed, because Stan won’t let him out of his sight for even a few minutes, and Richie isn’t about to argue about it. It’s going a bit better than expected, even though they’ve all spent the last hour crying on and off. Richie feels exhausted and dehydrated, and he wants to call Eddie. It’s as if from the moment he remembered Eddie again, all he wants to do is talk to him. He has to physically stop himself from calling him at any hours of the day. It makes it harder to practice self-control when he knows that Eddie would probably pick up too, no matter when he calls.

He glances over from where he’s sitting to look at Patty and Stan in the kitchenette, heads bent towards each other, hushed, sweet words exchanged between them. Patty brushes a stray curl away from his eyes, and he grabs her hand and places a soft kiss to her knuckles, and Richie’s heart soars with happiness. Patty’s been incredibly good with the whole thing, listening to their story no matter how fucked and back-and-forth the storytelling got. Richie thinks about Eddie, all the way on the other side of the continent, and his heart stutters in his chest.

Stan comes back to the bed and sits down next to Richie, who stumps out the lit end of the cigarette against the still and tosses it out the window, knowing that if Eddie was here he would berate him about littering, “Is it weird if I still found the first time at Neibolt the worst?” Stan asks, leaning back on his elbows and looking up at Richie with tired, puffy eyes.

“What?” Richie laughs, “You got your face chewed on! You weren’t even in the house for more than a few minutes the first time, to help us get Eddie out of there.”

“Yeah. That was the bad part. God, I was such a coward back then. When it all went bad in the house, I couldn’t help but think that if anything happened to you guys in there it would have been my fault, because I wasn’t there for you.” Stan admits, looking sad, like his old fears are all churning around in his blood, a wound re-opened, “Also, we stopped talking for two weeks after, and it sucked.”

Richie snorts, “Fuck yeah it did.” He agrees, and then places a soft hand on Stan’s tense shoulder, “If anything worse had happened to us in that house, it would have been the clown’s fault, not your thirteen-year-old anxious self. We all agreed Bill, Eddie and I was going in alone, while the rest of you stood guard outside. We pulled straws! That’s like… Legally binding, or something.”

Patty laughs from where she’s gotten comfortable on the floor where Richie had been sitting earlier, holding up Richie’s mug for him, and he grabs it and gives her a thankful smile, “Yeah, it goes pulling straws, dibs, pinky swears and blood oaths.”

“You’re right, of course.” Stan grins at Patty, and then glances back at Richie, and there’s doubt in his eyes, “But that’s how I felt. Beverly was right about us needing to stick together to survive, but we still let you three go into that nightmarish house alone, and then we just. Stopped talking and seeing each other for like two weeks afterwards. We were all so fucking co-dependant back then, the idea of being away from any of you for more than a few minutes felt unbearable. I don’t think any of us would pull all the shit we did that summer if it wasn’t for that fact.” He laughs tensely, “We would probably still have been like that, if we hadn’t forgotten. ”

“Why did you split up?” Patty asks over her steaming mug.

Stan sighs, “We dropped Eddie off at home because his arm was definitely broken, and Richie had snapped the bone back in place with no medical training. And Eddie’s mom immediately stuffed him in the car to take him the emergency room and screamed at us all for being bad influences, and she called Bev a whore, and then Bill and Richie had a big fight about going back to the house.”

“He punched me in the face! I mean… I’m well aware that I was being a dick about the whole thing, but I won’t back down from the fact that I was completely right about being pissed off at him. He was so caught up in his grief and wanting to find Georgie, he didn’t even realise all the danger he was putting us in. Eddie almost died in that house.”

“I know.” Stan reaches out to grab Richie’s shaking hand, clutching it tightly. His palms are slightly damp. “If I remember correctly, I was the one who told Bill he was fucking insane. It was the first fight I had ever started in my entire life, but I had just witnessed Bev stabbing a psychotic alien clown through the head with a iron fence pole to prevent It from murdering Eddie, and I was so fucking terrified.”

“I know.” Richie whispers, squeezing his hand, “We spent the last two weeks of July apart, because Bill and I were both stubborn assholes who refused to apologize first. And then I…” He stops, stares at their clutched hands and wonders why this next part feels so scary. “Fuck.” He coughs, “Uhm. During those two weeks… I… I saw Pennywise again.”

Stan frowns, sitting back up and turning his body towards Richie to give him his full attention, “You never told us that.”

Richie grimaces, “Yeah well. It wasn’t something I could tell you guys without baring all of my dirty laundry.” He laughs, but it sounds forced, “Basically. I’m. Oh, fucking shit. Well. Bowers accosted me one day at the arcade because he caught me hanging out with his cousin, Connor. I don’t know if you remember him, but he was visiting for a few weeks, and I… Fuck. Stan, ok, I fucking liked him. Not like I always liked… Uh. But I liked him. He was nice and funny, and… Well, anyways Bowers called me some slurs, you can imagine which ones, and I ran out into Bassey park where the fucking Paul Bunyan statue came to life and chased after me all the while Pennywise’s voice was chanting at me, _I know your secret Richie, your dirty little secret_. In hindsight it was one of the less dramatic things that happened that summer, but it… It fucked me up a bit, I think. I have nightmares about it all the time. I thought it was just some elaborate manifestation of my own internalized homophobia.”

The room goes very quiet. Just the steady pattern of their heavy breathing, and the clock on the wall ticking slowly along. His hands feel numb, and he thinks it’s stupid, because this is California not Derry, and he’s been out for a while, and Stan’s his best fucking friend in the entire world and doesn’t have a single prejudice bone in his entire body. But Richie feels that same old familiar fear sinks deep into his stomach, seep into his bones, buzz uncomfortably in the back of his skull, making his hands shake and his stomach churn uncomfortably, as if he might throw up. He remembers Pennywise’s taunts, Bowers’ sneer, Eddie’s mom spewing homophobic bullshit, the anxiety in his chest when his hand would brush Eddie’s as they sat next to each other watching a movie at the Aladdin. And he feels just like he did that summer; confused, and lonely, and fucking scared. Realising you’re a homosexual during the fucking AIDS crisis was probably one of the hardest things he’s ever done, and everything that happened that summer didn’t exactly make it any easier to deal with. He thinks, a little hysterically, that if Stan doesn’t say anything in the next few seconds he’ll get up from the floor and walk out that door.

“Oh.” Stan huffs, “That’s fucking horrible. I’m sorry, Rich.”

Richie’s head snaps up to look at him, and is so fucking relieved to not see a hint of judgement in Stan’s sad, deep, eyes.

“I remember Connor. Blonde curls, large brown eyes?” Stan smiles, and Richie nods stiffly, “No wonder you were smitten by him, his eyes were kinda like Eddie’s. All melancholy and dopey. Puppy dog eyes.”

“Fuck off.” Richie laughs, “Yeah, well. I’m glad I was being so bloody obvious. I’m starting to think that Eddie might just have been fucking blind, with the way you all seemed to know, back then.”

Stan grins, leaning forward to ruffle his hair, “I’ve known you since before we could talk properly. Of course, I knew you liked Eddie. I could read you like the back of my own hand. And yeah, you _were_ being a bit obvious, with all the longing glances, and lingering touches, and teasing. You were always pulling his metaphorical pigtails. Peacocking.”

Richie laughs in embarrassment, face heating up, “Did fucking Bev and Ben know too?”

“We all knew!” Stan laughs, “We used to try to plot out how to make you two realise you were in love with each other. Don’t you remember that time we locked you down in the clubhouse together during Junior year? We let you stay down there for hours, hoping one of you would fess up and just admit your fucking feelings already, but when we finally came down to check on you, you had both fallen asleep in the hammock.”

“Jesus Christ. I can’t believe it took us another three years after that.” Richie huffs, glancing quickly at Patty, who’s still staring at them with pure amusement. She catches him looking and winks at him, taking a long sip of tea as if saying this is none of her business. Richie thinks he might be a bit platonically in love with her. When he looks back at Stan, he looks humorous and fond. “I guess the whole forgetting about Eddie and spending two years moping around feeling like I had a piece of my heart missing did put a wrench in things. Made it a bit harder to face my feelings head-on.”

“Does that mean you’ve finally got your shit together? That you’ve told him you’re in love with him?”

Richie feels hot all over, and a bit like he’s naked, but nods sharply, “Eddie sent me letters after I moved away, that’s how I remembered everything. I didn’t get them until just about two weeks ago; but he sent me five letters over the last two years. His last letter was one rambling love-declaration, basically. I can’t believe he beat me to it, the little twerp.” He’s a bit pissed of about it, if he’s being completely honest. Things between them have always been like one big competition. He spent years of their adolescence practising and planning for what he was going to say when he finally told Eddie about being in love with him. He used to practise in front of the mirror, write down long speeches that he later tossed in the trash and then set on fire. The fact that Eddie beat him to it, when he spent so much time fucking thinking about it, feels a bit unfair.

“That’s great, Richie, really! Now I won’t have to deal with you yearning assholes anymore.” Stan grins, looking genuinely happy, and Richie can’t help but grin widely back at him.

“Glad to be of service.” Richie laughs, feeling giddy and overjoyed, and he kind of wants to do a lap around the building to run off all the energy bursting out of him.

“So are you dating or?”

Richie glances down at his feet that are hanging off the edge of the bed, all long awkward lines and angles, and coughs nervously, “We haven’t really talked about it, to be honest. He told me he’s been in love with me since we were in sixth grade and I told him I’ve been in love with him since the very first time I saw him, and we kind of left it at that.” He admits, sounding just as unsure as he feels, “I think we’re saving the _what are we_ conversation for when we see each other again. You know, just in case he takes one look at me and finds that he doesn’t really like me that much, anymore.”

Stan grimaces, and looks so much like he did when they were children and Richie did or said something incredibly dense, “Shut up, dude. Eddie’s always looked at you like you hung the moon for him. And if he was still sending you letters after two years of no response, I can’t imagine you have much to worry about.”

Richie blushes all the way from the tips of his toes to the top of his head, his ears burning and his stomach churning warmly, “Uh.” He stammers, “Yes. Well, we’ll just have to see won’t we.”

“So from what I’m understanding here.” Patty speaks up, setting her mug down next to her and running her hands through her hair, blinking tiredly up at them, “Is that you guys grew up in this horrible prejudice small-town where an psychotic alien clown entity that preyed on children’s fears lurked, and you two, along with five other thirteen year olds, defeated it? Barely escaping with your lives and clearly with _a bit_ of trauma?”

Stan and Richie glances at each other, then back at her, and nod in sync.

“Just wanted to make sure I had all the basic facts right.” Patty mutters, “Jesus Christ. I thought I had a bad time when I was younger because my dad was a mean drunk and my parents went through an ugly divorce. I won’t ever complain again.”

Stan huffs, “Hey now. We can’t all be victims of child-eating clowns, and we don’t compare trauma.”

“What now then?” Patty asks, “You two obviously have to go see the rest of your friends!”

Richie nods, turning to look at Stan again, “That was my plan. I was thinking we could fly back together? Mike is picking up Bill right now as we speak, and Eddie’s still trying to get a hold of Ben and Bev.”

Stan nods, eyes wide and sparkling, “I’ll obviously come, no question about it. Fuck, I miss them so much. How did Eddie and Mike survive this? Missing someone this much is fucking horrible.”

Richie heart feels painful, “They were always the strongest of us, if we’re gonna be honest. Remember Mike bringing his grandfather’s gun to Neibolt, the second time? And Eddie kicking It in the fucking face during the fight?” He snorts, “He was all like, _I’m gonna fucking kill you_. God, I love that unhinged idiot.”

Stan smiles widely, and his face radiates love, “Yeah.” He sighs, “Do you know where Ben and Bev are?”

“Bev goes to FIT in New York, so ideally we would have reached her before Mike went up there, but we keep getting her answering machine.” Richie sighs, “And Ben’s in Massachusetts, so it won’t be the longest journey when we eventually get in contact with him.”

Stan nods, looking thoughtful, “Ok. Uh, I’m finished with the semester, so I’m ready to go whenever.”

Richie brightens significantly, “Alright! We can call the airline in the morning and order tickets then. Hopefully we can get some for the evening, and be back in Derry by nightfall.”

Stan glances down at Patty, his facial expression softening immediately, “Babylove, would you come with us?”

Patty looks surprised, “What? Really?”

“Of course. I don’t want to go back without you. I know you came with me over the summer, but apparently I completely ignored Eddie when we met him in town. I want to introduce you to my best friends.” Stan says, tone warm, and Patty barely has time to let out a soft, _oh_ , before he continues, “I want to show you the clubhouse, and take you to see a movie at the Aladdin, and have you see the Quarry clifftop where we used jump into the water below to swim every summer, and I want to go on silly double dates with Eddie and Richie. Please come home with me, _properly_ this time.”

Patty lets out a soft sigh, eyes incredibly clear, “Of course I’ll come.”

Patty goes to the bathroom to get ready for the bed, and Stan pulls a sleeping bag out of his closet to roll out on the carpet on the floor, so Richie can sleep there. They make small talk, about college, and Richie’s stand-up, but they’re both too tired to talk about anything too coherent. As Stan brings the tea mugs over to the kitchenette to do the dishes, Richie gets into the sleeping bag and brings out his phone to call Eddie, even though it’s close to six am at this point.

Eddie picks up after a few rings, sounding incredibly sleepy and soft-voiced in the way that makes Richie’s toes curl pleasantly, “Hello? Eddie speaking.”

“Eds. Hi. Sorry if I woke you.” Richie mumbles, laying on his back and staring up at the roof of Stan’s dorm.

“No worries, I just got up to go to class.” Eddie says, morning-voice raspy and delicious, “How did it go last night? Did you find Stan?”

Richie glances over at Stan a few feet away and puts the phone on speaker, “He’s here with me right now. Say hi Staniel.”

Stan stumbles over and squats down next to Richie’s spot on the floor, “Eddie! Hi!”

“Oh, shit!” Eddie gasps, “Hi, Stan. It’s so good to hear your voice!”

“Yours too, Eddie. Sorry about the whole forgetting you for two years thing.” Stan says sincerely, leaning over the phone.

Eddie huffs out a tired laugh, “Don’t worry about it. I’ll get over it once you’re all back here.”

“We’re going to sleep for a few hours and then head for the airport and get on the next plane to Derry, so hopefully we’ll see you tonight.” Richie says, brain reeling at the reality of what he just said. In less than twenty-four hours he’ll hopefully be seeing Eddie again, in the flesh. His heart feels too big for his chest.

“Oh, that’s great! Mike and Bill will be here at like three.” Eddie says, sounding incredibly happy, despite his sleepy-voice, and Richie can’t help but smile widely.

“I can’t wait.” Stan grins, just as Patty walks through the door and locks it behind her, wearing a sleep shirt and glasses. There’s toothpaste in the corner of her mouth, and Stan’s eyes go astonishingly tender, “I’m bringing Patty with me. Actually.” He adds.

“Good!” Eddie says through a yawn, and Richie’s stomach does a flip, “We were expecting as much.”

Patty waddles over to sit at the edge of the bed, “Hi Eddie!” She calls towards where Richie’s holding the phone up, “I can’t wait to meet you.”

“Oh. Hello! Same to you.” Eddie laughs softly.

“Anyways.” Richie interrupts, turning off speaker phone and giving Stan a look that he hopes says, _get lost_ , “I hope you’re excited to see me too.”

Eddie huffs, and Richie can picture him rolling his eyes, “Of course I am, asswipe.” The insult has no bite considering how affectionate Eddie’s tone is, “I’m kind of nervous though.”

Richie frowns, turning over on his side as if to shield Eddie’s nerves from Stan and Patty over in the bed, “What for? I’m just little ol’ me.”

“You’re going to laugh at me.” Eddie says, sounding serious, and Richie wants to reach through the phone and slap the back of his head, or kiss him very tenderly.

“I would never laugh at you on purpose, Eduardo. If you’re being serious, I can be somewhat serious too. You know that.”

“Yeah.” Eddie sighs, “I guess I’m just scared you’re going to see me again and find that you just don’t feel the same anymore, or that maybe you never did. We were so young, and so much has changed in the past two years… Maybe what you felt back then was just- Maybe you were just horny.”

Richie tries very hard to focus on the meaning of Eddie’s words, not the way he said horny with tired gruffness in his voice. “Excuse me? Are you really trying to gaslight me over my feelings for you?” He huffs, voice very quiet so Stan and Patty won’t overhear, “Of course I was in love with you back then, and yes I was also _very_ horny, but they don’t cancel each other out, you stupid fuck.”

“Shut up!” Eddie hisses, “I’m just saying! We knew nothing about love back then.”

“That’s stupid. I learned the very meaning of love from you. I don’t even know if boys that age are even supposed to understand the concept of romantic love, but I did.” He says, and his own voice is sappy and tender, desperate to ease Eddie’s stormy mind, “Also, why are you so sure that you were in love with me then? If we knew so little.”

“Ok, I get your point! I’m just nervous… I haven’t ever felt like this before, and it’s been so long.”

Richie smiles fondly, “Eddie, baby, I spent most of my adolescence wanting to hold your hand, and then I spent literally all of my teenage years wanting you to kiss me. I used to jerk off to you in your stupid fucking red running shorts with the little rainbow flags on them, every single night for years.”

Eddie splutters indignantly, “I- Really? The shorts?”

“Oh, yeah. The rainbows really sealed the deal. You were like a walking personification of my wildest wet dreams in those shorts.” Richie whispers, and debates going on in the hallway if this is going to progress any further. Popping a boner would be no way to introduce himself to Patty, and Stan would likely kill him before he could even get an explanation out, “There’s no doubt in my mind about the fact that I was head over fucking heels with you from the moment we met.”

Eddie sighs in a way that makes Richie’s head spin, “Oh.” He coughs slightly, and Richie immediately knows he’s not done with needing reassurance, and Richie thinks he’s willing to stay for another twenty four hours if it means easing Eddie’s anxiety, “Was there- When you first read my letters, or the last letter to be exact. Was there even a slight hint of doubt in you? Were there a few seconds where you had to think about it? Where you knew you used to love me and was wondering if you still did?”

Richie snorts, and it’s embarrassing how sure he is of his answer, “No. Not even a millisecond, if that’s what you’re going to ask next.”

“You’re laughing at me!” Eddie yells, and Richie loves him so much his chest hurts.

“I’m not!” Richie hisses, “Eddie I wasn’t joking when I said I have ruined all my romantic relationships because they weren’t _you_. I’ve dated about five people the last two years. They all were short and brunette with huge melancholy eyes. But none of them were you, and I didn’t want anyone besides you. My heart belonged to you fully, even when I couldn’t remember you. That has to mean something.”

“I’m scared.” Eddie admits, voice low and soft, and Richie’s heart feels like it’s going to fucking explode, “I spent so long thinking I had either missed my chance or never had one in the first place, and now I might be seeing you tomorrow and I’ve never- I have never been wanted like that. Or at least not openly. I’m scared I won’t know what to do.”

Richie grins, feeling like he’s lost his mind with how dizzy Eddie’s making him feel, “We’ll figure it out, Eds. Together. Like we always did.” He tries to assure him, “All I know is that I’m going to make out with you in the hammock in the clubhouse to make up for all the hours I spent in there with you wishing I was brave enough to kiss you.”

Eddie laughs, and its reassuring, “That sounds like a deal. I actually used to hate the hammock, if I’m being honest. It was uncomfortable and the swinging made me nauseous. I only got in because I wanted to be close to you. It made it all worth it when my legs were on either side of your body and you would rest your forearms against my shins to read comics.”

Richie lets out a choked, _oh_ , and tries to reel his mind back down from the skies, “Yeah. Uh. Same. I mean I loved the hammock, but mostly because you would always get in there with me. Those hours I spent with my skin pressed against yours, in there, were the only times I let myself indulge in my feelings for you. I could touch you however much I wanted and just blame it on the close proximity of our bodies.”

“I can’t wait to kiss you in it.” Eddie says, voice very careful, as if he’s unsure if he’s allowed to say things like that, to want stuff, to ask for stuff. Richie wants to give him the world. It sometimes scares him. How much he loves Eddie. It used to scare him, back in high school, for many reasons. Mostly because of the backwater small town they grew up in, that tried to teach them that boys shouldn’t want other boys in the way Richie wanted Eddie, but also because he was willing to do so much for him. He recalls the flush of relief he felt in the front yard outside Neibolt, the first time they were there, when Eddie pulled the shortest straw, and Richie pulled one of the two other short straws right afterwards. He thinks he might have gone into that house, after Eddie, even if he pulled the longest one.

“I would be honoured, honey.” Richie whispers, dizzy with want.

“Good.” Eddie huffs, “I have to get ready for class now, and you’ve been up all night and you’ve probably cried a lot, so you should get some sleep.”

“Hey now, Stan cried just as much!” Richie argues, underlined by Stan’s muffled “ _fuck off_ ” from behind him.

Eddie laughs fondly, “I don’t doubt it. You two used to be unbearable. We couldn’t get through any movie without the two of you turning on the waterworks. You both cried when the alien kissed Ripley in Alien 3, for fuck sake!”

“It was an emotionally loaded scene, Eddie! Not our fault you’re repulsed by the thought of showing people how you feel.” Richie says, and then feels a bit bad, all things considered, clown, mom, Derry, “I bet you cried when I got on the plane.”

Eddie goes quiet for way to long for it not to imply anything, “No comment.”

“Hi, Richie. While this is all a very nice conversation, and has prepared me for the absolute horror of PDA we are about to witness, and also warned me not to go down in the clubhouse while the two of you are down there, we do need sleep.” Stan speaks up from the bed, shifting slightly to glance down at Richie with bleary eyes, “Patty gets grumpy with lack of sleep. You don’t want to see her grumpy.” He mouths the word _scary_.

“Damn night.” Patty mumbles from the other side of him, sounding like he has her face pressed into the pillow.

“Right.” Richie grins, “You heard that Eds? I gotta go.”

“Yeah, I just told you so too. You never listen to me.”

“And I probably never will. Your ideas are generally just as insane as mine.”

Eddie scoffs playfully, but doesn’t deny it, which is part of the reason Richie is so in love with him, “Get some sleep, asshole. Call me when you find out about the plane tickets, ok?”

Richie turns around in his sleeping bag to stare at the ceiling again, his eyes dry and his eyelids heavy with sleepiness, “Sure thing, Eddi-O.”

“I love you.” Eddie whispers, careful and incredibly tender and it makes Richie’s heartbeat almost painfully hard against his ribs. Every time Eddie says those three words it’s like a confession, and Richie doesn’t know how much longer he can stand to hear it when he can’t pull Eddie’s body flush to his and kiss him silly.

“I love you.” Richie grins, and thinks that this is the happiest he’s been since he left Derry two years ago. His life in LA hasn’t exactly been hard, despite mental health issues and a yearning heart. He’s already doing his dream job, two years into his BA, and he’s got good friends and likes all his classes. But here, on the hard cold floor of Stan’s dorm room, with Stan himself and Patty snoring lightly in the bed a few feet away, with the knowledge that he’s going to be seeing Eddie, Bill and Mike again in a few hours, Richie is so happy he can barely breathe. It doesn’t even matter that his body is so tired his organs sort of hurt, or that his back is complaining about the hard linoleum floor, or that they still haven’t gotten ahold of Ben and Bev yet, because he knows everything is going to work out. They didn’t survive Neibolt twice, the greywater and the clown and the very essence of Derry to let a few miles between them split them up.


	2. one phone call, one voicemail, two reunions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Home isn’t a location, a country, a state, a town, a house, but friends. Friends who know you, the real you, who loves you despite your faults, who see you, who knows you aren’t perfect, but would die for you down in the sewers that wind just under the skin of a town that tried to kill you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wait, hopefully you think it was worth it <3 thank you so much for the love on this series so far!
> 
> chapter relevant TWs:  
> mention of panick attacks (nothing too detailed), canon related child-death and violence, very quick mention of strict religious households, alcohol, emeto, implied abusive parents, John Wayne Gacy mention, bad dick jokes.

_(...) He did not consider if or how or why he loved them / They were just love: they were the first evidence he ever had of love, / and they would be the last confirmation of love when everything else fell away ._

_\- Zadie Smith, "On Beauty"_

* * *

Eddie’s having a crisis. He knows this. He’s been pacing himself a worn-down path in the field just outside Mike’s family farm for the past hour, ranting to himself about absolutely nothing. He even considered saying yes when Mike’s grandfather nervously walked out into the field to ask him if he wanted a bit of whiskey, because he looked like he needed it, but he quickly shot that idea down. As much as his mind is reeling and his anxiety is making him see stars, he wants to be sober for this. He spent the entirety of his autonomy class staring out the window as if he could manifest Mike’s car to appear outside in the parking lot, and couldn’t form a coherent answer when his professor pulled him aside after class to ask if he was feeling alright. He doesn’t know how he feels, if he’s being honest with himself.

The problem is, Eddie spent two long and horrible years having to accept the fact that his friends weren’t ever going to be his friends again, no matter how bad he wanted it and how hard he tried to get in touch with them, and it’s going to take a lot of time to reprogram his brain to the fact that that’s not true anymore. A month ago, he couldn’t have imagined today ever happening, even in his wildest dreams. But the universe doesn’t care about whatever he’s convinced himself of, because it is happening, whether he’s emotionally prepared for it or not. Mike called him just after class from a rest stop and Richie called him from the airport to confirm their flight time. He wants to be exited, and he is, but he’s also about to fucking shit his pants with nerves. 

_Don’t freak out on me, Kaspbrak. Breathe._ Richie had said over the phone, softly and sweetly, in that way he always spoke to Eddie when they were younger, and Eddie would work himself into a frenzy over almost anything he couldn’t control. Richie was always good at that. Redirecting Eddie’s anxiety into something more tolerable, by cracking jokes or speaking to him in a calm, collected manner about anything stupid that came to him. Eddie would focus on arguing with him instead, laughing and bickering until he couldn’t even remember what got him so worked up in the first place. It doesn’t seem fair that the one person who could always calm him down from his worst episodes, is the person he’s the most nervous about seeing again. _I’m just me. You know me._ Yeah well, that’s real fucking easy to say, coming from Richie who’s only had to deal with all of this for a few weeks. He hopes that having Mike back here will make things a bit easier, considering how they went through the past years together, but he’s worried he won’t be able to calm himself down enough so he won’t fucking break down when he sees Richie again.

He had spent almost an hour staring at his closet trying to find out what to wear, and then felt silly because it’s not like he has to dress up to impress four of his closest friends in the world, who knew him when his mom still bought all his clothes, and who saw him covered in intergalactic clown vomit. But then again, he wants to show them that he’s not that same kid anymore. He buys his own shit and actually tries to look like what he wants to look like now, and he’s worked very hard to break free from his mother’s chains. He had settled on simple jeans and a t-shirt under his puffer jacket and knitted hat, but as he paces the field now, he feels underdressed for an event that didn’t have a dress code on the invite. It feels even sillier when he thinks about the fact that Bill and Mike will be seeing him after a eight hour road trip across the West coast, and Richie, Stan and Patty will be coming off a long plane ride across the continent, so it’s not like they’re going to be looking their best, either.

It’s snowing, and the dark embrace of west-coast winter has already started draping itself over the town, like a cold and wet embrace, despite the fact that it’s not even four in the afternoon. He’s just about to turn on his heel and march into the farmhouse to demand that glass of whiskey from Grandpa Hanlon, when he spots the headlights down on the main road, turning into the pathway up to the farm. His heart picks right back up to its furious beating, and he tries his best to count to then. _This is it, Kaspbrak_. He marches over to the car as it parks in the driveway, and plants his feet firmly in front of it as Mike turns off the ignition and kills the headlights, stepping out of the car with a tired smile on his face.

“Didn’t know if you would be waiting here.” He says, shutting the car door, only to turn to the backseat to retrieve his bag.

“Of course I am.” Eddie huffs, feeling stupid, and like maybe he should have just waited at home, but then Bill steps out of the car and he thinks, _fuck no, no way I could wait a second longer_.

Bill grins, wide and genuine, “Eddie Kaspbrak. You look good!”

Eddie laughs, “You do too, Bill! I’m glad the car didn’t break down somewhere in Connecticut.”

Bill walks over, laughing, and grabs Eddie by the forearms to pull him in for a bone crushing hug. It’s the truth. Bill does look good. He’s still just as short as Eddie, but he’s definitely worked out since moving away from Derry, because his arms are defined even through his sweatshirt, and his hair has a fancy swoop to it that Eddie’s never been able to manage with his own hair texture. He has a hint of a moustache on his upper lip, which Richie is definitely going to have a field trip with. The thought makes Eddie’s stomach churn.

“Don’t speak badly about my car, Eddie. She’s sensitive.” Mike huffs, walking over carrying both his and Bill’s bags.

“She’s fucking unstable, that’s what she is.” Eddie grins, releasing his hold on Bill and stepping back to take him all in. He looks tired and rumpled, and the skin under his eyes are raw and red, as if he’s recently cried, and Eddie feels so full of familial love he thinks he might pass out with the intensity of it.

He remembers being seven and meeting Bill out by the playground, thinking he was the coolest kid ever with the coolest bike Eddie had ever seen, despite his stutter and wonky knees. He remembers being barely twelve and holding Bill as he cried, realizing for the first time in his life that there might not be a god, at least not kind and loving, because there was no one who could claim that Bill losing Georgie ‘happened for a reason’ or was ‘a part of God’s bigger plan’ or whatever bullshit Christians like to spew out whenever tragedy strikes. Remembers being twelve, almost thirteen, and being willing to die for Bill, if he had asked that of Eddie. He feels a bit silly, now that he thinks about it, because Bill, blinded by grief and an annoying hero-complex, would never have asked the Losers to die for him, to avenge Georgie with their own lives. But Eddie would have done it, no questions asked, and it scares him a bit to remember.

“There were a few m-moments where I was scared she was going to p-part ways with the engine.” Bill teases, “She d-definitely wasn’t made for New York traffic, I’ll tell you as much.”

Mike comes to stand next to Bill, looking just as exhausted, “Yeah, well, she’s reliable, at least. Got us home in one piece.” He grins, bumping his shoulder into Bill’s in a way that’s not entirely platonic, and Eddie narrows his eyes at them but chooses not to comment on it, “Any luck getting a hold of Ben, since I’ve been gone?”

They turn around and walk back to the farmhouse together, icy mud squelching under their shoes.

“Yes, actually. I called MIT’s administration, and they transferred me over to the student advisor for the architecture institute, who informed me she’d leave Ben a message, and that he would probably get back to me around five, because that’s when his last class is over today. So I thought we could all talk to him together?”

Bill whoops, “Shit, t-that’s great!”

“Good job, Eddie.” Mike praises, and Eddie grins, feeling thirteen and competent for the first time in his life. He shakes his head as if he can rid himself of all his childhood fears.

“Yeah well, the easy part is done.” Eddie says, holding the door open for Mike, “Plus, Beverly still hasn’t gotten back to us.”

“D-Didn’t her aunt leave a m-message?” Bill asks, hopping on one foot trying to pull his boots off. Eddie grins at the familiarity of it.

“Part of me is scared she’s gotten it but doesn’t want to call back. You know, since she doesn’t remember us. If I was her and some random dudes from Maine left me a message about wanting to get in contact, I wouldn’t have called back.” He admits, worry clutching at his already tense shoulders. He hates to have to be the one to say it.

“We shouldn’t worry about that b-before we know for sure. Her aunt remembers us, so she must have given Bev some d-details, right?”

“We won’t know until she eventually calls.” Mike sighs, hanging his coat up on the coat rack and walking into the living room to drop their bags onto the floor and plopping down on the couch, “Did you give Ben the number to the farm or do we need to drive back to yours before five o’clock?”

“No, I was planning on coming here so I left the farm’s number. I’m not stupid.”

Mike throws his hand up in surrender, “Never said you were, Eds.”

“Don’t call me that.” Eddie mutters, no bite in his tone.

Bill stands in the doorway, staring at them with a distant look on his face, “This is so weird.”

Eddie sits down in the armchair in the corner of the room, folding his legs under his body and leaning back against the headrest, “What is?”

“I don’t know. Y-you two. Seeing you interact. It’s like.” He coughs, sounding flustered, “It’s just like old times. Eddie being all snappy, and Mike b-being the mediator.”

Mike huffs a laugh, patting the seat next to him on the couch, “We haven’t changed much, to be honest.” He says, glancing at Eddie, “Staying in Derry is kind of like being fossilised. Frozen in time.”

Bill walks over and sits down next to Mike, a bit too close than strictly necessary, and nods, “I can imagine. What I s-saw of town looks exactly the same as the d-day I left. They even have the f-fucking _I Am a Teenage Werewolf_ posters up at the Aladdin from when we were thirteen.”

“Yes, people are still real fucking lazy here.” Eddie grumbles, “I also don’t think the theatre’s been cleaned since we all went to see _The Tit and the Moon_ in June of ’94.”

Bill scrunches up his nose in disgust, “God, I had forgotten that horrible movie. What the f-fuck was that? Why did we see that as our last movie together before we m-m-moved away?”

Eddie rolls his eyes, but can’t help the way the sides of his mouth quirks upwards, “Richie wanted to see it. He saw the word ‘tit’ and went out to get us all tickets.” He huffs, “Stan and I refused to go at first, but Richie gave that whole speech about that being our last chance to all do something together before Stan left the next week.”

“Right.” Mike laughs, “It was honestly the worst movie I’ve ever seen, but we laughed harder than we ever had before, and distracted us from the fact that we were all going our different ways for college and had to leave each other, so it made up for it.”

“Yeah.” Bill sighs, “Richie was always d-doing weird stuff to distract us and make us laugh.”

“Still does.” Eddie smiles, knowing full well his facial expression is giving away how affectionate he feels.

“Congrats, b-by the way!” Bill yelps, as if suddenly remembering something, “Mike told me in the car! I honestly never thought you g-guys would ever get around to figuring out your s-shit.”

Eddie hums, frowning, “Yeah. None of us did, apparently.”

“We didn’t have much faith in you two, that’s for sure.” Mike laughs, “But there was that one summer, ’91 I think, where Richie looked like he was going to explode every time he looked at you. We had a betting pool going on whether or not he was going to accidentally confess to you.”

“It wasn’t even a b-bet, because we all g-genuinely didn’t believe he would be able to hold it in.” Bill snorts, “And then Eddie showed up to Stan’s b-birthday party wearing one of Richie’s shirts, and Richie hid in the bathroom for like an hour. I still cannot b-believe he never broke.”

“Yeah, laugh it up, assholes.” Eddie huffs, but his heart is doing violent flips in his chest, “To be honest, I was on the verge of telling him from grade five through twelve. Don’t understand how I managed to keep it in.”

“You t-two are stubborn as fuck, that’s how.” Bill grins, “Who c-confessed first?”

Eddie blushes, staring down at his clenched hands in his lap, “Uh. Me.”

Bill hums, “Nice. That’s w-what I always thought would h-happen. When you set your mind to something, no one can s-stop you, not even you.”

Eddie’s about to open his mouth to give a snarky reply to that, when a loud ringing echoes through the room, and they all jump up to stare at the phone on the little table in the corner. Mike stumbles up from the couch to stride over and grab the phone from the receiver, pressing in tightly to his ear, “Hanlon family farm, Mike speaking.”

He turns to them big bright eyes to mouth _MIT administrations,_ and Bill and Eddie are up and next to him in seconds, giddy with anticipation.

“Uh, yes, it’s the right number. Yeah, you spoke to my friend Eddie earlier. He’s here right now, yes.” Mike hums, looking at them with raised brows, “Yes, please do that.” He pulls the speaker away from his face and whispers, “She’s going to transfer me over to his dorm phone. It’s ringing.”

“Who s-should speak to him?” Bill asks, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, looking nervous.

“We can alternate.” Mike says, “Might speed up the remembering process for him to hear from all three of us.”

Eddie nods, “Sounds good.”

Mike’s eyes shift as a murmur of a voice comes from the speaker, “Hi Ben.” He sighs, sounding relieved, and Eddie holds his breath, “It’s Mike Hanlon, from Derry.”

He holds the receiver between them, so Eddie and Bill can hear.

“Mike?” Ben sounds startled, “Oh. Yes. Hi.”

“How are you?”

Ben coughs, “Uh, I’m ok, feeling a bit confused right now. What… How do I know you again?”

Mike hums patiently, “That’s valid. We grew up together, in Derry. We met when we were thirteen, the year you moved to town, and then we went to high school together. Me, you, Eddie, Bill, Stan, Bev and Richie.”

Ben sucks in a harsh breath, “Oh, right. I- I had forgotten, sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about, Ben. It’s…” Mike looks helplessly at Eddie.

“Hi, Ben.” Eddie says into the receiver, “Eddie here.”

“Oh, hello.”

“I’m here too.” Bill calls, “Hi, it’s Bill!”

“Bill… Hi.”

“So, I understand you m-might feel a bit overwhelmed. I sure did when Mike c-called me.” Bill says, voice soft in the way it always did when he was talking to the Losers, “How much do you remember?”

“I didn’t. I remembered nothing of my years in Derry until about twenty seconds ago, to be honest.” Ben says, sounding tense, like he did that day they met him bloody and beat up in the Barrens, and when he showed them the clubhouse a few weeks later, like he’s scared they’re gonna judge him, and Eddie’s heart hurts a bit to hear it, “I guess I remember your voices, now. And uh, school, I suppose. I think I remember swimming a lot, and… A forest by the river?”

“The Barrens.” Eddie supplies, “Yeah, we hung out there a lot. You built us a clubhouse, in the woods.”

“Oh.” Ben sighs, “Yeah, I did, didn’t I? How are you guys? What’s happening back in Derry?”

“We’re good. Better than good, actually. Look we… We’re trying to get all of you guys back here for the holidays. Reunite the group.” Eddie says, debating how much he should say right now, if it would be better to wait with the whole clown thing until Ben’s back here.

“We know your family hasn’t lived here in two years, but you would be welcome to stay at one of our places.” Mike adds.

“Oh.” Ben says, “Uh. Look that sounds absolutely lovely, I just don’t… Hmm. I don’t know.”

“Oh, he does _not_ want to come.” Eddie whispers to Bill and Mike.

Bill bites his lip, looking determined, the same tense features he had back in ’89 when he decided to go fight Pennywise all on his own, “Look Ben. I understand h-how you feel r-right now. Like your life is crashing d-down around you. I had a t-twenty-four-hour long breakdown after Mike c-called me. Sorry to d-drop this all on you, but we n-need you to come back.”

“But why?” Ben asks, sounding upset, “I don’t know how to explain this, but I feel. I don’t know... A bit freaked out.”

Eddie hums thoughtfully, “Yeah. I’m sorry about that. If it helps, Richie and Stan are on their way back right now, and Bill just arrived half-an-hour ago. You’re not the only one who has forgotten. Mike and I think it’s got something to do with what we went through during that summer we all met…”

Ben goes very quiet on the other end, and then, with a voice laced with unfiltered fear, he says, “Shit. The… Oh.”

“There we go.” Bill smiles, but his eyes are clear and sad, “Yeah, d-dude. What did you just remember?”

Ben coughs harshly on the other end of the line, “Uh. The clown, I think. The sewers. The deadlights. Georgie.”

Eddie feels his shoulders tense, “Yeah.”

Bill sags a bit against Eddie’s side at the mention of Georgie’s name, and Eddie reaches out to place a steady hand on his back.

“Shit.” Ben says, and it’s loaded, and Eddie understands the meaning behind it, “Ok. I’ll come.” And it’s suddenly easy, in the way it always was. The Losers stuck together. The Losers showed up for each other when it was needed. The Losers belong together. The Losers are soulmates, a family, a club bound together by love and blood and trauma.

“Just like that?” Mike laughs, sounding a bit incredulous.

“Just like that.” Ben confirms, “Uh. I’ll have to call my mom first. She’s expecting me back for Christmas.”

“Of course.” Eddie says, “You might still make it to Portland before the 24th, if you are able to get here as soon as possible.”

“No.” Ben says, calm and serious, “No, I want to spend however long I can with you guys. You said Richie and Stan are arriving later today?”

Eddie’s heart swells in his chest, “Yes, around eleven tonight.” He confirms, “When is the soonest you can get out here?”

“I’ll catch a bus tomorrow morning. I’ll have to go to Boston first, and then catch a bus to Bangor. There’s no direct lines from here to Derry.”

“I can come pick you up in Bangor!” Mike suggests, sounding excited, “It’s no trouble.”

“That would be perfect.” Ben says, and then goes very quiet, silence loaded, “Have you… Have you talked to Bev?”

Eddie frowns, glancing nervously at Bill, “Not yet. Sorry.”

“I think I have her number.” Ben says, “She sent it to me just after she found out she got into FIT. We talked for a while after I moved, actually. I didn’t remember until just now, but I’m pretty sure I have it in my phone book somewhere.”

Eddie feels his own eyebrows raise incredibly high on his forehead.

“Wait, are you saying you remembered Bev? After you moved?” Mike asks, sounding just as surprised as Eddie feels.

“Yeah. Not as much as I do just now, I suppose. We sent a few letters back and forth, and then it all faded out, and I forgot.”

Bill nods, “It’s just like h-how I didn’t exactly forget Eddie and Mike after I moved. Not for a few m-months.”

Eddie considers that, “I suppose that means Mike’s theory on the distance between Derry and wherever you guys went having something to do with how fast and how much you forgot.”

“Theories?” Ben asks, sounding intrigued, “I’ll have to hear them when I come home.”

 _Home_. There’s something in the way he says the word. Like it’s not Derry that is home, to any of them. Maybe it never was. But like wherever the Losers are is home, to them all. Like home isn’t a location, a country, a state, a town, a house, but friends. Friends who know you, the real you, who loves you despite your faults, who see you, who knows you aren’t perfect, but would die for you down in the sewers that wind just under the skin of a town that tried to kill you. Eddie remembers thinking about it, back in the summer of ’89, when he got the call about Beverly being taken by It. He remembers standing in the hallway, phone clutched in hand, thinking that maybe it shouldn’t matter if friends are always good friends. That the only thing that matters, at the end of the day, is that they are your friends, and they’re worth being scared for, happy for, live for, and die for. It’s simple really. The knowledge that wherever they are, whoever they become, whatever they do, the Losers are home to each other, and always will be. They built themselves homes in each other’s hearts.

“Anyways, it doesn’t matter. We got her number from her aunt, and s-she isn’t picking up. We get her answering m-machine every time.” Bill says, sigh heavy in his voice, “Suppose we’ll just h-have to keep trying.”

Ben hums, “Yes. Keep trying. I’ll try as well.”

“Thanks.” Mike says, shoulders sagging slightly. Eddie knows Mike has felt like the responsibility of the reunion of the Losers has rested heavily upon him, even though Eddie has been right here to help. It’s familiar, the way Mike’s always trying to help, always selfless, even when it’s irresponsible and lacks self-preservation.

“I’m not ready to hang up just yet,” Ben admits, sounding apologetic, “Can you stay on the phone with me for a while? I don’t want to be alone at the moment, I’m a bit overwhelmed.”

“Yes.” Bill says, quickly, reassuringly, “Yes. Of course.”

Bill, Mike and Eddie get comfortable on the floor, phone held up between them. Ben tells them about his studies, his life in Massachusetts, what he’s gotten up to since Derry. Bill, Mike and Eddie do the same, filling in gaps of what they’ve all missed out on, being apart. Ben asks questions, laughs, cries a bit and talks. It’s easy to imagine that he’s there with them, in their tight circle on the floor, knees pressed together, and heads bent towards each other. His presence is large and comforting in the room, familiar and kind, reassuring and familial.

Once they hang up so Ben can go to his last class of the day, Eddie borrows Mike’s phone to call Bev again. It rings for a long time before playing Bev’s now familiar answering machine message.

_“This is Bev! I’m not at home right now, or I’m in the shower. Please leave me a message after the beep, and if I deem it worthy, I’ll call back.”_

The beep sounds, loud and ringing in Eddie’s ear, “Hi, Bev. This is Eddie Kaspbrak. I’ve tried calling a few times over the past week, but you haven’t gotten back to me. I don’t know if you remember much of when you used to live in Derry, back when you were thirteen, but we used to be friends. Look, it would be really cool if you could call back so we could catch up! Uh, yeah, that’s all. Please call me.” The end beep almost cuts him off. He spends a few seconds just staring at the phone in his hands, and hopes, for about the tenth time, that Bev will check her answering machine and remember him enough to want to call back.

They’re waiting outside the airport, in the parking lot, leaning against Mike’s car, fifteen minutes past eleven. The night sky is dark and looming above them, the cold almost unbearable, despite their heavy winter coats and knitted hats. Mike loaned Bill and Eddie some gloves before they left the farm, but they still stand huddled together to keep warm. Eddie feels like he’s going to pass out from his nerves. He can’t remember the last time he was this nervous for something, perhaps not since the summer of ’89, as they stared down the well in Neibolt, getting ready to do something no thirteen-year-olds should have to do. Getting ready to _kill the fucking clown_ , or die trying. Mike keeps glancing over, amused concern clear on his handsome face, and Eddie is pointedly ignoring his looks.

“You’re practically vibrating.” Mike says playfully, and Eddie wants to bite him.

“Fuck off.” He snaps, crossing his arms over his palpitating chest, “I think I’m going to die. I think I’m having a heart attack.”

“You’re n-not having a fucking h-heart attack.” Bill laughs.

“How the fuck would you know that, dickhead?”

“B-because I know you’re just anxious. I’ve known you for almost thirteen years. I know when you’re c-close to a p-panic attack.”

“Fuck off.” Eddie says again, just because he can.

Mike laughs and checks the clock on his wrist, a birthday gift from Eddie from last year, “They should have landed about five minutes ago. So with baggage claim, they should be out in about fifteen minutes.”

“Jesus Christ.” Eddie groans, and is suddenly glad for the pressure of Mike’s car against his back, because he thinks he would have collapsed like a Victorian maiden without it, “Fuck.”

“You’ll be ok.” Mike says, laying a comforting hand on Eddie’s shoulder, “You’re going to be shitting bricks all the way up until you see him, and then it’s going to be easy. Your body knows how to respond to his presence.”

“I don’t know how my body is going to _respond to his presence_!” Eddie barks, “I might be so overwhelmed I’ll just walk over to him and punch him in the face.”

“That would b-be funny.” Bill snorts, and then sees the look Eddie gives him, “Sorry. Don’t punch him, maybe? Just… I don’t know. Do what comes natural, in the moment.”

“Oh god, I’m gonna fucking punch him.” Eddie groans, “I’m gonna punch him, and then throw up.”

“I don’t think you are.” Mike laughs, because neither of them have any respect for Eddie’s very valid breakdown, “I think it’s going to be on the very other end of the spectrum, actually.”

Eddie blushes, furious at the betrayal of his body, “Fuck off.” He mumbles, but it has no weight in it, and Mike laughs again.

“I think punching can be considered a love language, when it comes to Richie and Eddie.” Bill snickers, “And biting. Remember how often Eddie would bite him, back in grade school?”

“Fuck you!”

Patty is the first one out the airport front door. Eddie knows her the second he lays his eyes on her, and then can’t stop the surprised laugh that escapes his throat. She’s tall, with dark curly hair and sharp features, and she looks exactly like Richie’s long-lost twin sister. Of course, Stan would find the one person in California that looks exactly like his childhood best friend. She’s wearing one of those insanely popular fleece track suits with the little bedazzled logos across the ass, all black and shiny, under a bright red puffer jacket. She walks like every step she takes is purposeful, and looks quite literally like every childhood crush Eddie can remember Stan having. Like a mix between Vanity from _Vanity 6_ , Rae Dawn Chong, Pam Grier, and Winona Ryder. She gives them a huge grin and shakes their hands respectively, grip firm and a bit intimidating.

“How did you know we were us?” Bill asks, looking a bit dazzled as he stares at her. Eddie snorts.

She grins, “I was given very detailed descriptions for who to look out for. Also, there’s like two other people out here, and one of them is that 80-year-old man with a walker, so.”

Mike laughs, and shakes her hand, “And where’s the two other musketeers?”

“Stan’s waiting for our luggage, and Richie’s in the bathroom.” She glances over at Eddie and mouths _throwing up_.

Eddie scrunches up his nose in disgust, and briefly wonders if Richie is planning on kissing him with vomit breath. Oh god, is he going to? Kiss him, that is. Eddie isn’t sure if he wants this moment, with their long-lost friends and the old man a few meters away watching, to be their first kiss. “Of course he is.” He says, a little too fondly, and then notices how bad his hands are shaking.

“You _are_ cute.” Patty grins, glancing at him.

Bill chuckles next to him as Eddie splutters, “Excuse me?”

“Oh, Richie has _not_ shut up about you since this morning.” She laughs, “I’ve spent the last six hours stuck between him and Stan, listening to them rant about you guys, and Richie describing you in unnecessary detail. I guess I do understand what he means about the whole. _Bambi eyes_ , thing.” She waves her hands over her own eyes and widens them comically, as if to illustrate what she’s talking about.

“Oh.” Eddie huffs, “Shut up.”

She just grins at him.

“Sorry about Eddie. He’s like a chihuahua. All bark, no bite.” Mike laughs, “Unless you’re Richie, which Bill pointed out right before you walked over.”

“Fuck you.” Eddie murmurs, staring at Patty’s shoes to avoid meeting anyones eyes. They’re very clean looking shoes. 

Mike pointedly ignores him, “It’s really nice to meet you, Patty. Stan spoke so highly of you last time I saw him; I almost began to wonder if you were even real. It’s nice to see that you are, after all.”

Patty’s tan skin flushes prettily, “Oh. Yeah, Richie mentioned that when he accosted me at my job last night.”

“He did what?” Eddie groans.

“His _Stan-senses_ gravitated him towards my place of work.” She grins, and for a moment Eddie’s nervous about her energy alongside Richie’s whole… Thing. The two of them might be a chaotic match. “He ranted about knowing who I was and then demanded to see Stan, even though it was almost midnight.”

Bill scoffs, “T-that must have been t-terrifying. Why d-did you indulge him?”

“He gave me a very _manic_ funny guy vibe, so it just really made sense to me that he’s got to be Stan’s best friend. He’s always had a thing for people like that.”

Eddie snorts a laugh, “I guess that makes sense. I-” His sentence is cut off abruptly, as his heart thumps painfully in his chest as his eyes drift over to the entrance of the airport. He sees Stan first, still tall and lean, looking way too snazzy for a long day of air travel in a sweater-vest over a light collared shirt, and dark jeans. Then, all he sees is Richie. Like the rest of the world fades away, a blurry background around Richie.

Eddie has seen him since he moved, knows the ways he has changed and the ways he’s exactly the same. Still all legs, shoulders and curls. Eddie saw his stupid soup commercial from two years ago about five hundred times, even recorded it and kept the cassette under his bed to bring out when he missed Richie especially much. He had cut out the pictures of Richie from the article in The Derry Articles, which included Richie’s headshots, and a photo of him on stage, and carried them around in his wallet for months. Richie had even sent him a few pictures, two weeks ago, for Eddie to have. Nothing, however, prepared him for the real thing, for Richie walking over wearing baggy jeans, dirty converse and a bright coloured ski-jacket, looking nervous and more so effortlessly handsome Eddie wants to unhinge his jaw and eat him whole. Nothing could have prepared him for the way his entire body reacts, gravitating towards him like a magnet. 

He doesn’t even realize he’s moving towards him until Richie’s face lights up, eyes wide and mouth in a shit-eating grin, and he opens his arms to greet Eddie, who slams into him like a freight train.

“Ouf!” Richie gasps, laughing slightly as he wraps his arms around Eddie’s waist and lifts him off the ground, spinning them around slightly, “Hi, Eds.”

Eddie’s face is shoved into Richie’s chest, his hands around his neck and shoulders, so his voice comes out a little muffled when he says, “Hi, Rich.”

They hold each other like that for a long while. Bodies flushed together, arms tight around each other, Eddie’s feet slightly off the ground. Breathing each other in. It feels like they’re the only people in the world, and the only thing that matters is holding each other. Eddie thinks he might be crying, and from the way Richie’s shoulders shake slightly, he thinks he might be crying too.

“God.” Richie sniffs, “I’ve missed you so much. You’re so. Oh, god.”

“Yeah.” Eddie murmurs, turning his head so he’s leaning his cheek against Richie’s shoulder instead, catching his breath, “Fuck.”

Richie grips him tightly like he’s something precious, and it makes Eddie’s toes go numb and his stomach burn.

“Don’t kiss me.” Eddie says, before he even realizes he’s opening his mouth to speak, and cringes a bit at how it sounds.

Richie pulls away slightly, so he can glance down at him, and seems to be comforted by the look on Eddie’s face, “I won’t.” He grins, and Eddie stares at his mouth and debates just throwing caution to the wind and kissing him regardless. He’s hungry for it. Wants Richie to kiss him in the way he always wanted things when he was younger, all-consuming and overwhelmingly intense. Eddie used to feel like nothing would ever be able to fulfil his hunger, when he was younger and living on a strict diet and wouldn’t let himself reach out and touch Richie in the ways he was ravenous for. It’s only now, with Richie’s strong arms around him that he begins to realize that he isn’t supposed to be this hungry for things he can simply just ask for.

“I just don’t want to. _You know_. In front of them.” Eddie murmurs, feeling like he should explain himself. Doesn’t want Richie to think he doesn’t want to. Doesn’t want to act like his entire body doesn’t ache for it.

“I get it.” Richie grins, looking smug, “We have all the time in the world now, sweetheart.”

He thinks, a little sadly, that maybe Richie would have given him anything he wanted back when they were younger, all the things he was ravenous for, if he had just been brave enough to ask for it. It’s nice, comforting, to know that he doesn’t have to ask for it anymore. Knowing that Richie is giving himself to him, without asking for anything in return, simply because he wants to. Eddie stares at him, the way the tip of his nose is red and his glasses are a bit fogged up from the cold, looking happy and lovely, and knows that Richie can have everything he wants to from Eddie too, that he’ll never be able to refuse him anything.

Eddie’s snapped back to reality when Stan’s voice calls, “Am I going to get a hug too, or do I have to pry you two apart to get it?”

Richie detangles himself from Eddie, grinning sheepishly, “Sorry.”

Eddie doesn’t want to let go, but reluctantly steps away from Richie’s warm body and turns to where Stan’s waiting, “Hi, Stanley.” He smiles.

“Eddie.” Stan nods, eyes affectionate, smiling wide in a way he rarely lets himself smile, and pulls Eddie in for a tight embrace, “It’s really good to see you again.” He whispers against Eddie’s hair, and Eddie feels tears sting his eyes again.

“You too, Stan.” He murmurs, feeling choked up and overwhelmed.

When they’ve all hugged and teared up an justifiable amount, they stuff themselves into Mike’s tiny car. They spend way too long trying to fit the luggage into the trunk, which is already almost full of Bill’s oversized canvas bag. Mike and Stan do some stacking, and it all fits eventually. Richie intertwines his and Eddie’s fingers together and refuses to let go even as they climb into the car. There’s really not enough space for them all in the car, but they refuse to call a cab and having to separate for even a few minutes, so Eddie, Stan, Patty and Richie all squeeze together in the backseat, Patty halfway into Stan’s lap and Eddie hallway into Richie’s. It’s fine. Eddie doesn’t even think about the dangers of being too many people in one car, or the way none of them can manage to get their seatbelt buckled, and it’s not like he would have cared if his brain was able to catastrophize the situation like it usually would. All he can think about is Richie’s hand in his, the way Richie’s thigh is hot under him, Richie’s head leaning on his shoulder.

“Where do we want to go?” Mike asks as he pulls out of the airport parking lot, “Do you want to go to your parents’ houses for the night, Richie and Stan?”

Stan coughs, “No. We’ve both talked to our parents about it. We can see them whenever. Right now, we just want to be _together_.”

“Yeah, no way I’m hanging out with my parents tonight when I haven’t seen you guys in years.” Richie agrees, “My mom would probably not let me through the door, to be honest. She’s so excited about us hanging out again.”

Eddie feels an overwhelming sense of love for Maggie Tozier, who always treated him like her own son, fed him and hugged him when he looked like he needed it and let him spend as much time as he needed over at Richie’s place. Remembers sitting on the kitchen counter letting her patch up his scraped knee, the day Richie yet again managed to convince him to race all the way home from the clubhouse, too scared to go home to his own mother with bloody, dirty, knees. She had put the plaster on after disinfecting the wound, and kissed his knee, as if the very idea of motherly love would heal him up faster. He thinks it might have, at the time.

“My grandfather made up all the beds in the house for us, just in case. We barely sleep there ourselves. Him and grandma sleep at the farmhouse. We can go there, if you all want?” Mike asks.

“How many beds are there?” Patty asks, “I don’t want to intrude. Stan and I can go back to his parent’s house, only to sleep, if there’s not enough space.”

“No, you won’t.” Mike says, sounding dead serious but not unkind, “There’s four beds, and I suspect Eddie and Richie will share, so there’s more than enough space. When Ben comes down, and hopefully Bev eventually, we will make space.”

“You know, Patty, you might not share our clown trauma, but you’re a Loser now. We’re not letting you out of our sight.” Richie laughs, but Eddie’s still stuck on the _sharing a bed_ comment, body buzzing with nervous excitement. Richie squeezes his hand, as if he’s thinking the same thing. “We’re real codependent, you know that right?”

“N-nothing new.” Bill laughs from the passenger seat, turning around to look at them, “I don’t want to spend a moment apart from you g-guys while we’re back here, to be honest.”

“It’s just like when we were children.” Stan says, a bit muffled by Patty’s shoulder, “I used to hate going home.”

Eddie knows how that feels, but perhaps not for all the same reasons. Stan’s father was strict, and the unkind mix of deeply religious and hyper-masculine, and never liked the way Stan was quietly witty and complex and rebellious. It was never much of a surprise that Stan spent most of his free time over at Richie’s house, where boys like them were allowed to be themselves without judgement or scrutiny. Stan was smart and kind and clever, and in some ways, the biggest loser out of all the Losers, with his good grades and button up shirts, but he was also the most rebellious. No one who didn’t know him like the Losers did would ever suspect him of anything; the good boy, the Rabbi’s son, the perfect student, respectful of adults, boy scout’s leader. He was a complete wild card, and Richie loved taking full advantage of it. Stan’s pranks were always the dirtiest, the rowdiest, the funniest. Richie and Stan were like two different sides of the same rebellious coin, and Eddie had spent his entire childhood trying to keep up with them.

“Wait a minute.” Richie says, leaning his head away from Eddie’s shoulder to look at the rest of them, “You talked to Ben?”

“Oh shit, yeah we d-did. A few hours ago.” Bill grins, “S-sorry. Forgot to mention that.”

“That’s good.” Stan says, “So he’s coming?”

“He’s going to catch the bus to Boston tomorrow morning, and he’ll be in Bangor around five.” Mike confirms, “I’m gonna drive and pick him up.”

“Shit.” Richie laughs, giddy, “That’s great. Fuck. Six down, only one to go then. The Losers club is back together, baby.” He hoots, loud in Eddie’s ear.

They’re pulling into the side-street outside Mike’s childhood home before he knows it, stumbling out of the car into the cold outside, and grabbing the bags from the trunk. Eddie almost slips on the front steps, but Richie places a strong hand on the small of Eddie’s back, fingers spread, stabilizing him.

“Watch out, Eds.” He grins.

“Not my name.” Eddie says, without thinking, because in the end it all does come natural to him, just like Mike said it would. He would never admit that out loud though.

They get comfortable in the Hanlon’s living room, bags still out in the hallway. Richie suggests they get something to drink, because they’re all tired and happy, and back together, and that should be celebrated. So, Mike and Stan bring out beers and whiskey from the kitchen, and Eddie hands out glasses and coasters, because someone has got to take responsibility for the well being of Mike’s grandma’s beautiful teak coffee table. Mike, Patty and Bill pour themselves hefty amounts of whiskey, while Richie, Stan and Eddie settle for beer. They chat for a while about college, but Eddie’s too busy just looking at them all, he’s not really participating in the conversation. Bill and Mike are pressed together in the love seat, barely touching, but close enough that it isn’t entirely accidental. Patty and Stan are sitting in one of the armchairs, Patty on the armrest and Stan in the seat, and they’re holding hands, and keep glancing at each other lovingly. Eddie and Richie are on the couch, pressed into the same seat, Richie’s arm slung over Eddie’s shoulders and Eddie’s head resting against Richie’s chest. It’s nice, and it’s warm and the beer is so cold that condensation is building up under his hand and running down his fingers, and he relishes in it.

“So, Patty.” Bill starts, looking a bit nervous, “How much do you know about the c-clown thing?”

Patty looks thoughtful, “You mean the whole Bonzo the alien kid-killer shit-show you all dealt with when you were barely old enough for your balls to have dropped?” She replies, completely deadpanned, which makes Richie let out a loud bark of a laugh, startling Eddie.

“Yes. I suppose.” Bill laughs, “Stan t-told you everything?”

“Every gory detail.” Patty confirms, and Eddie isn’t surprised. It never was in Stan’s nature to keep secrets from those closest to him. “I will say, I did think they were speaking in metaphors there for a while. Like the clown was an actual clown. Like some fucked up child-predator John Wayne Gacey creep type clown, but then they kept mentioning the whole… Alien thing? And the shapeshifting. And the, _the deadlights_?”

“Yeah.” Stan nods, “I really thought that at first too, back at the start of that summer. I couldn’t wrap my head around the whole, supernatural being thing.”

“Not even when Eddie was attacked by the leper, or when Bev’s bathroom went all Carrie on her?” Richie snorts, “Or when you, yourself, saw the woman from that creepy ass picture in your dad’s office?”

“I thought our fears were just playing tricks on us.” Stan shrugs, “But then, Neibolt.”

Mike nods thoughtfully, “Neibolt.” He says, like that’s a full sentence, and then takes a long sip of his drink.

“Also, don’t you judge me for trying to think rationally, Trashmouth.” Stan says, tone slightly teasing, in that way that made people very unsure of whether he was joking or not, “You kept making jokes about the whole clown thing.”

“ _Can only virgins see this shit? Is that why I’m not seeing it_?” Eddie quotes, deadpanned and nasally, and Richie laughs so hard he has to push himself away from Eddie to lean over the armrest, wheezing loudly, “You were such a fucking asshole. You were thirteen with the fashion sense of a divorced dad going through a midlife crisis, and had those fucking Buddy Holly coke-bottle glasses. Plus, you had like, barely six people who tolerated you. Who the fuck were we supposed to think you were sleeping with?”

“ _Your mom_.” Bill and Stan say in unison before Richie can even open his mouth to make the joke himself.

“Oh, fuck you. Stealing other people’s material is a cheap fucking shot.” Richie snorts, laughing harder, “I was definitely overcompensating for the whole gay thing.”

He says _the whole gay thing_ in the exact same tone as he used to say things like _I’m hungry_ or _Stan you’re a dick_. Like it’s the simplest thing in the world. Like it’s just another familiar part of him, like hunger or thirst or tiredness.

“Yeah, no shit.” Stan grins, “It was pretty apparent you were overcompensating for _something_. With all your horribly time dick jokes.”

“Remember when Ben was bleeding out in that dirty alley and you still took the time to not only hack on Beverly, but also to talk about how big your dick was?” Bill asks, grinning, like this is a very fond memory and not the start of the most nightmarish summer they’ve ever experienced.

“Comedic timing wasn’t always one of my specialities.” Richie shrugs, leaning back into his previous position and wrapping his arm around Eddie’s shoulders again.

“You don’t say.” Stan scoffs.

Richie laughs and glances down at Eddie, “Who _were_ you supposed to believe I was sleeping with? Good question, Eds. I have on good account that you, yourself, have wanted to bone me since we were like six.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Eddie huffs, “I did not want to bone you at six?”

“What about at thirteen?”

Eddie grimaces, “Well, just because I was into you back then doesn’t mean I believed other people were. I have a very specific taste.”

“You sure do.” Richie grins, and then leans down to press a kiss against the crown of Eddie’s head, and Eddie blushes all the way down to his toes and hopes the others aren’t looking at him too closely. It’s mortifying, he thinks, the way his body reacts to Richie.

“How did you two meet?” Mike asks politely, in Stan and Patty’s direction, clearly trying to steer the conversation away from Richie’s dick. Eddie’s internally grateful for Mike’s manners. He suspects him and Eddie are the only two who are genuinely concerned about giving Patty a good first impression of them. Bill seems to have just accepted her as one of them and keeps trying to make her laugh, pulling faces behind Mike’s back.

Patty’s eyes flash with excitement, “Oh. We were in the same orientation group, actually.”

Stan groans, as if the story is going to be embarrassing for him, and Richie leans forward in his seat, clearly noticing the same thing, “My parents were there.” He says, as if that explains it. It sort of does, actually.

“He was just standing by the fountain, looking really uncomfortable, as his dad was asking our orientation guide a bunch of questions about kosher food in the cafeteria, and as a fellow Jewish person with overbearing parents I wanted to put him out of his misery.”

“Good choice. Bullet right between the brows, mafia style.” Richie nods, and Eddie’s horrified to see Patty grin at that. 

“So, I introduced myself and told Stan they were showing a student film about the solar system over at the science building auditorium.” Patty continues, “So we snuck away from our parents, who were too busy with bothering the poor upperclassmen guides with all their questions to notice us leaving. And then we just, didn’t stop hanging out, after that.”

“That’s so sweet.” Bill coos, a bit teasing but not unkind, “My freshman orientation was hell. I was so lonely and scared. You know, considering the memory loss and repressed childhood trauma.”

Mike nods solemnly, “Everyone deserves a Patty.”

Stan nods, but looks a bit choked up, eyes glossy and mouth in a tight line, “Yeah, well. You can’t have mine.”

“Not that Patty isn’t a perfect specimen,” Richie starts, and Stan visibly tenses at his words, “And if I wasn’t one hundred precent, definitely gay, I would probably have gotten down on one knee and asked for her hand in marriage the second I saw her in the coffee shop. But you can keep her. I got an Eds, and that’s all I need.”

Eddie grimaces, “Oh, shut up.” He grumbles, feeling hot all over and terribly embarrassed. He feels thirteen again, and like Richie has just pulled his shirt up over his head and tried to twist his nipples, cooing _cute cute cute_.

“You’re awfully twitchy for a guy who sent me super long sappy love letters for two years like some Jane Austen protagonist.” Richie teases, but there’s something careful in his tone, as if he’s scared of pushing it, scared of stepping on Eddie’s metaphorical toes.

“Oh, shit. Did those go to you?” Eddie asks, morphing his face into something borderline apologetic, “Those were supposed to go to Ben, actually.”

Bill and Stan laugh so hard they cry. Mike looks very amused, eyes sparkling mischievously, and Patty leans back against Stan’s shaking shoulder to grin at Eddie.

Richie grins widely at him, eyes bright and affectionate, as if it means the world to him to realize that Eddie will still rip into him like that, despite their mutual confession, “Of course. Of course, that makes much more sense. I opened them and thought, huh, this part about my huge muscles and sweet tender eyes don’t sound quite right… Now it makes sense. Sorry about presuming.”

Stan snorts, “ _Presuming_ … As if the two of you didn’t spend all of high-school practically eye-fucking each other across our cafeteria table, or in class, or in the locker room.”

Eddie snaps his head to glare at him, trying very hard not to think about how much energy he had put into not looking at Richie in the showers after gym class in high school, “I did not. Fuck off. I did not _eye-fuck_ him. What the fuck does that even mean?”

He regrets the question immediately, because Richie squeezes him closer into his chest and says, “It means you were undressing me with your eyes, honey. That you were trying to visualize if my dick jokes were really just jokes.”

Eddie rips himself away from Richie’s grasp and slaps his chest hard, enraged to find it plumb and strong, not skinny and hard like it used to be, “Fuck you. You’re so fucking gross. I hate you.”

Richie just laughs, head tilted backwards against the couch, eyes scrunched shut. Eddie gulps as he takes in the long line of Richie’s throat, the sharp edge of his jawline. Part of him wants to lean over to bite his adams apple.

“I feel like this is some sort of foreplay for them.” Patty hums, “Should we ask them to get a room?”

“Please don’t.” Eddie pleads, feeling mortified, “He can go cool off in a room by _himself_. Time out.”

Richie snaps his head forward again to huff at him, “Am I fucking ten? Did I accidentally push you into the bushes, or ride my bike into yours?”

“Accidentally?” Eddie half-yells, getting more and more worked up by the minute, and also a little lightheaded. Maybe this is like foreplay, for them. “You very purposefully pushed me into the bushes. And you told me you were planning on running into me, right before you did. There was nothing accidental about any of those moments!”

“You just admitted that I gave you a clear warning.” Richie grins, “Not my fault you didn’t get out of my way.”

“I hate you.” Eddie hisses, “I really do. You are unbearable. I wish I never sent you those fucking letters. I should have sent them to Bill or Ben. They would never do this shit to me.”

Richie’s eyes go soft, but not in a way that makes Eddie think he’s taking him seriously, “Sure you do.” He almost purrs, and Eddie has to look away before he throws himself at him and presses him back against the couch to lick into his mouth. The bottom of his stomach burns hotly at the thought, and he has to glance over at Patty and Stan to remind himself of why doing that would be a very bad idea.

“I wouldn’t.” Bill pipes in, sounding very amused, “But I would probably not be getting you this hot and bothered, either. So I think you’re pretty happy about how this all turned down, accidental letter sending or bike accidents accounted for.”

“I just want to add,” Mike says, that mischievous grin still clear as day on his face, “That the letters definitely went to the right person. I had to spend two years listening to Eddie rant about the postal service. I even bought the stamps for him because he didn’t want his mom to know he was sending letters.”

“I hate you all, actually. Not you Patty, you are a sweetheart and is not to blame for these four complete fucking assholes.” Eddie grumbles, leaning back into the couch and crossing his arms over his chest, “I should have let the clown eat you.” He adds, which makes the whole room erupt with laughter. Patty hides her laugh behind her hand, as if she doesn’t want to show how amused she is by this whole ordeal. Eddie loves her terribly already.

“Yeah, because we were the ones who faced It alone that time at Neibolt.” Richie grins, “I would never have let him eat you, Eddie. We _didn’t_ let him eat you. If we did, you wouldn’t be sitting here saying these very hurtful things.”

“I wish you did.” Eddie hisses, “Put me out of my misery. Where is that fucking clown when you need him?”

“Don’t say that.” Stan groans, “You’ll probably wake him from the dead, and we’ll have to crawl through those fucking sewers again. I did not bring wading-through-shit-and-piss-clothes with me.”

Patty wrinkles her nose at that, but argues, “You did bring rain boots though.”

Stan looks betrayed, “They’re expensive ones. I’m not subjecting them to Derry’s sewage system. You have no idea how disgusting it is down there.”

Eddie thinks about that, “Hey, did you and Ben ever get tetanus shots after we were down there? You had open wounds.”

Stan stares at him, expression exasperated, “Of course we did, Dr K. I went to the hospital, remember? The doctors didn’t exactly know I had been swimming in greywater, but they realized my wounds weren’t exactly clean.”

Eddie nods, satisfied with this answer.

“If that fucker ever comes back, I’m leaving it for the next generation of losers.” Richie groans, and the room goes very silent at that, as if they’re all considering the statement.

Eddie looks around and them and is overwhelmed with how incredibly fucking grateful he is that they are all alive. They get to sit here, knowing that they killed the clown, escaped Derry, and made it back home, together. It’s not a given, growing up in a town that ate children whole, like blood sacrifices to an ancient intergalactic god. _The eater of worlds_ . They’re lucky that they had the chance to leave. They’re lucky they survived the monster that so many children before them fell to. Eddie thinks, a little sadly, about Betty, Edward, Patrick and Georgie, who were just children, who never got the chance to run away. Hockstetter might have been somewhat of a monster himself, and Betty wasn’t exactly a pleasant girl, but they had been _so young_ , and no one deserved a fate like the one they were dealt.

He thinks about the _why_. He hasn’t really let himself think about the why since that summer, when everything felt so incredibly unfair to him and he couldn’t fathom why the seven of them had to be the ones to fight the clown. It wasn’t as if the Losers were particularly special, by any means. Pennywise didn’t single them out, choose them. It was torturing and hunting all the other children of Derry, that summer, and every summer that fell at the end of It’s 27 year long sleep, for hundreds of years before the Losers were even born. Eddie used to wonder what the reason for the Losers survival was, in the end. Why did they make it while Georgie, Betty, Patrick and Edward didn’t? 

He glances around at his friends now, Mike’s certain smile, Stan’s knowing eyes, Richie’s wide grin, Bill’s bright expression, imagines Bev’s sharp laugh and Ben’s calming presence, and he thinks that maybe it wasn’t about being special, or about being chosen, but about deciding to do the right thing. The Losers had met, had formed unbreakable bonds; had noticed the poisonous, evil, parts of Derry and realized that no one else was going to do something about it.

At the end of the day, the Losers were willing to die for Derry, and for each other, and that’s what set them apart from the other kids in town. Their love for each other washed away any of the magic over Derry that made people hateful and cruel. They stumbled across Ben that day at the Barrens, and said we’ll take care of you. They met Mike and immediately tried to protect him. When Eddie broke his arm, nobody left him; they were willing to die by his side. When Beverly needed their help, no one questioned whether they were going after her or not. The Losers loved each other unconditionally, and in the end that made all the difference. Eddie sends a silent thought out to them - all the children who died because of that fucking clown, and hopes they know that they were avenged, in some way. That the Losers not only did what they did for each other, but for every child Derry swallowed whole and let rot away in the sewers just below the surface, never to be found, never to be buried.

“No, you fucking wouldn’t.” Stan says, voice a bit pitchy. Just like in Bassey park, summer of ’89, when he had looked at Richie with outrage on his face and said, _no, Richie, she’s not hot._

Richie smiles, “No, I wouldn’t.” He agrees, “But if I have to fight that clown again, I’m gonna be real fucking pissed.”

Bill, who’s gone a bit pale, huffs out a laugh and raises his glass of whiskey, “Cheers to killing the clown, and may that fucker s-stay dead.”

They all get up from their seats so they can clink their glasses together, like Vikings. Even Patty, who looks a bit dishevelled and amused at the same time. They drink deeply, and then get another round, and move the subject of conversation as far away from the clown as they can for a group of people whose lives were very much shaped by what they went through together that summer. Patty tells a hilarious story about Stan trying to climb out of her dorm window on the third floor once when her dad came on a surprise visit, back when they were in the very early stages of their relationship, and Richie laughs so hard he has to go outside on the porch to cool off. When he comes in, Stan and Bill demand to see one of his stand-up sets, being the only two of the five Losers present who hasn’t been following his career obsessively like Mike and Eddie has. Eddie’s heart feels like it’s going to melt right out of his chest when he realizes most of Richie’s Voices and jokes are familiar, reminiscent of things he’s very sure one of the Losers once said, or did, and from the look of the other’s faces, they seem to be realising the same thing. Mike goes very teary eyed and laughs with shaky shoulders. Stan is looking at Richie with a very small smile on his face, shy and very tender, in a way that seems entirely private and meant for Richie only. Bill grins widely, leaning back in his seat and chuckling deeply. Eddie just watches, and knows that his own face must be beet red and horribly affectionate.

Around two in the morning, Patty yawns so loudly Eddie feels it in his bones, and Stan insists that they go to bed, even when she argues that she still has more stories to tell.

“I know, babylove. But you should save some for Ben.” Stan whispers, eyes heavy lidded and soft, and Patty relents, looking very much in love with him. They say their goodnight, and stumble up the stairs together to find an available bed to crash in. Richie wiggles his eyebrows after them, but doesn’t say anything.

“It’s nice.” Mike says, once they hear a door upstairs click shut.

“What is?” Bill asks, glancing at him, eyes very clear.

“Them. The way Stan found someone despite everything.”

Richie glances down at Eddie, who was already looking up at him, “Yeah, it is.” He says, and Eddie feels like crying at the look on his face.

Bill goes up to bed next, looking intoxicated and exhausted. He was always the drunkest of the Losers, having the lowest tolerance for any substance they tried out, ending up falling asleep or having to be brought home early. Mike watches him go with a fond look on his face, and Eddie looks away out of respect for his privacy. He thinks back to January two years ago, when the two of them sat at the Quarry cliff tops and talked about everything they had lost, and Mike had seemed so angry, to Eddie, in a way he never was before the rest of the Losers left Derry. He had talked about them like they had betrayed them by even leaving in the first place, and while Eddie had been thinking the same thing, he didn’t say it, because he knew it was unfair.

“I best go to bed too, if I’m going to be capable of driving down to Bangor to pick up Ben.” Mike yawns, and he hugs them both before he retrieves upstairs to his childhood bedroom.

Once it’s only Eddie and Richie left downstairs, Eddie feels the uncertainty and nerves from earlier creep right up his spine. He glances over at Richie, just to see that he’s staring right back at him.

“We don’t have to share a bed.” Richie says, as if he’s reading Eddie’s mind, “I can sleep on the couch, down here. Or I can go over and sleep at my parent’s place.”

Eddie frowns, suddenly very annoyed, “Fuck off. No, you won’t. You heard what Mike said.” He grumbles, “I’m just nervous. I’m allowed to be.”

Richie smiles and raises his hands in a gesture of mock-defeat, “Ok, sorry.” He grins, and then raises his eyebrows, “Do you want to try the kissing thing now?”

Eddie feels his heart drop down to the bottom of his stomach, and he’s a bit worried it’s going to fall out of his ass, “I- The kissing _thing_?”

“We don’t have to.” Richie rushes, “I’m just asking if you want to.”

“Of course I want to.” Eddie snaps, “I want to. I’ve always wanted to. I just. We’re both intoxicated, and all our friends are asleep upstairs.”

“Right.” Richie grins.

“And this is Mike’s grandmother’s couch.” Eddie says, dumbly.

“Right.” Richie repeats, “Look, Eds. I’m not asking for you to hump me on the couch. And I’ll be happy to wait to kiss you until whenever you’re ready. I just wanted to make sure.”

Eddie can’t stop himself from snapping, “Oh, so we’re gonna wait for marriage?”

Richie grins as if this pleases him deeply, “I’ll have Mike marry us first thing in the morning. Don’t try me.”

Eddie deflates, and he leans back into Richie’s side momentarily, “Shut up. It just doesn’t feel like this is the best moment. I want it to be-”

“Special.” Richie finishes for him, sounding very soft around the edges, “Right, me too.”

“Sorry.” Eddie says, as if that is necessary. He knows it isn’t.

“Look, how about this. My parents invited you and me over for dinner tomorrow. I don’t want it to be too late, so we can suggest lunch. And then you and I can go down to the clubhouse, together. Just the two of us.”

Eddie glances up at him. From this angle, Richie’s jaw is sharp and his neck looks very long. He tucks his chin in to look down at Eddie, brown eyes warm and inviting, lips in a slight smirk. Eddie loves him an unbearable amount. 

“As long as we are back by the time Ben and Mike arrive from Bangor.” He says, feeling himself flush, “I suppose that would be nice.”

Richie grins, and pats Eddie’s knee softly, “Alright. Put that down in your calendar, December 19th, 1999, Eddie and Richie will be kissing from around noon until five.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“Let’s go to bed, Eds. I’m exhausted.” Richie snickers, removing his arm from Eddie’s shoulders, using both hands to hoist himself up from the couch, turning around and offering Eddie a hand. Eddie lets himself be pulled up and into Richie’s side. “Between the seven hour bus to Stanford, the all night heart-to-heart with Stan, and then six hour flight to Derry, I haven’t really gotten much sleep.”

“Of course.” Eddie says, suddenly bashful, “Let’s sleep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come hang out with me on twitter @richietozieer  
> and if you want more content from me, I'm writing a social media au over at @kissedteacherau ! <3

**Author's Note:**

> come hang with me on twitter @richietozieer !


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